


Broken Little Stars

by RumbelleDearie



Category: Black Sails
Genre: 1950s, Aboriginal Heritage, Additional Warnings In Author's Note, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Farm/Ranch, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst ... if you squint, Bisexual John Silver, Blow Jobs, Canon Disabled Character, Erections, First Kiss, Fluff, Fluff and Smut, Gay James Flint, Horse Training, Horses, Illnesses, Injury Recovery, M/M, Miranda is in charge here, Miscarriage, New Mexico, POV Alternating, Past Captain Flint | James McGraw/Thomas Hamilton, Past Miranda Barlow/Thomas Hamilton, Period-Typical Homophobia, Period-Typical Racism, Slow Burn, Smut, Stillbirth, Swimming, Tenderness, Unresolved Sexual Tension, hand holding, horse breaking, mentions of World War II, polio
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-08-11
Updated: 2020-08-31
Packaged: 2021-03-05 20:01:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 49,693
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25830991
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RumbelleDearie/pseuds/RumbelleDearie
Summary: New Mexico, late 1950's.According to rumour, Hamilton Ranch had recently acquired a prized stallion in need of breaking - but as of yet, no man had been up to the task. Eager for a challenge, and desperate after being kicked out of his last Ranch, John Silver decides to try his luck at Hamilton Ranch. Silver can only hope the prized stallion will be easier to work with than the enigmatic Rancher with copper hair.
Relationships: Captain Flint | James McGraw/John Silver
Comments: 36
Kudos: 63





	1. Chapter 1

_BROKEN LITTLE STARS DO SHINE,_

_SO BRIGHT, SO BRIGHT._

_BROKEN LITTLE STARS DO SHINE,_

_TAKE FLIGHT, TAKE FLIGHT._


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer 1: I know nothing about horses so I did a fair amount of research for this story. But please, do not use this work of fiction as a guide to breaking, training, or caring for horses. There are many ways to break a horse and the ideas shown in this story are not the sole ways to do it. 
> 
> Disclaimer 2: I make some creative decisions regarding Silver and his background that fit the historical setting of this fic. Please keep in mind that this is a fictional story and all cultures and people, regardless of race and background, should be treated with respect. I’m very aware of cultural appropriation and that is in no way my intent here! In addition, there will be period typical racism (which is still a problem today) in this fic - none of which reflect the views of this author. If you feel I should add more to the tags, please, respectfully, let me know. 
> 
> Disclaimer 3: No beta, so enjoy the mistakes!
> 
> I've been quite anxious about sharing this story, so I do hope you enjoy!

Silver had been breaking horses since he was sixteen years old and he was really fucking good at it. Before that, he’d been a stable boy responsible for mucking out stalls and grooming horses. He’d been working on a farm in some capacity since he was ten years old. At first, work had been a way to help his father, then it had been a matter of survival, but now - now it was because he loved it.

The horses were powerful - forces of nature - and any time Silver could make them listen, it made him feel like he had an illusion of control in his life.

Silver cursed under his breath as he adjusted the canvas bag on his shoulder - it had begun to feel a lot heavier when he reached mile six. The roads were dark and the evening humidity had completely disappeared; New Mexico was odd like that, scorching hot days, the air dry and sticky, but some nights so cold, silent, and still. Silver looked up into the sky. The stars were out. Normally, it was a comforting feeling - seeing the north star. His mother believed in the stories of the stars, the maps and journeys they painted in the sky. Silver didn’t know if he believed all that, especially not while he had always felt so _lost_. 

His feet were starting to hurt, his boots were digging into his ankle bone, but Silver had nowhere else to go at this point, so he simply kept on walking. 

Silver had been forced to leave the ranch he worked at out of necessity - there was a small disagreement over some misplaced documents; the Rancher had kicked him out in the middle of the night with no reference. But it hadn’t bothered Silver that much, he was never one to stay in one place for very long. Besides, he had heard about a neighbouring ranch that had just acquired a prized stallion in need of breaking - Silver would try his luck there.

* * *

By the next morning, Silver had been incredibly relieved to have found Hamilton Ranch. He carried the canvas bag containing his personal items, as he hopped over the front gates, his boots knocking up the red dust as he went. He had to tilt his head down as he took in the ranch, his hat protecting his eyes from the early morning sun. 

The farmhouse stood to his left. It was an old building with wood siding, the once white paint chipped away in the harsh humidity, leaving the boards grey and weathered. Even the beams in the veranda looked like they had seen better days. There was a vegetable patch next to the house and a few potted plants that indicated someone might consider themselves an amateur horticulturalist. Some distance beside the house was a small enclosure with a chicken coup. A cocky rooster sat perched upon a post nearby, his feathers ruffled and burnt orange. 

In the distance, towards the right, was an outpost building. The building didn’t look like a stable; perhaps it was storage for machinery, or a possible barracks house, Silver couldn’t be certain. There were several pens in the field to the right - some containing grazing cattle, others empty.

There was a large white stable towards the back acreage of the property, and the possible peak of another stable’s roof in the distance. For a ranch, it was rather small and in a remote part of the backcountry - close to the Mexican border. But it was Silver’s only chance right now - he hoped they were willing to take on a new horse trainer. 

“May I help you?” A soft, _English_ , voice preceded the sound of a wooden screen door creaking shut.

Silver turned his head towards the front porch of the farmhouse where a woman in an off white housecoat stood. She had long brown hair reaching the middle of her back, soft skin, and the attitude of someone in charge. 

“I’ve come looking for work. My name is John Silver - I’m a horse trainer.” John paused, hoping for an answer. Only the rooster responded. John took a few steps towards the porch so he didn’t need to use such volume as he spoke. “I heard Hamilton Ranch acquired a troublesome prized stallion that needs breaking and I’ve been looking for a challenge.” John flashed a cocky grin, tilting his head down so that his eyes were masked by the brim of his tan hat. 

The woman smiled. 

“Where have you come from?” She took in his appearance - the blue tank top, rough denims, grimy skin. He looked like a kid. His skin, although covered in dust, was smooth. He was a man though, she could tell by the crinkles at the corner of his eyes. 

“I came from about fifteen miles north.” Silver paused, his eyes following a stray barn cat who darted out from beneath the deck. “I have references,” Silver added about to reach into his back pocket but the woman’s clear voice stilled his movements.

“Fifteen miles? That’s a long way.” She eyed him suspiciously - cataloguing her knowledge of all the farms within a fifteen mile radius. “Did you walk all night?”

Silver shuffled his feet in embarrassment. 

Miranda understood the gesture immediately. “Very well.” She pulled her housecoat tighter around the middle. “Come have a seat on the porch, I’ll get us some tea.”

Silver tipped his hat towards her, obliged by the kindness as he stumbled towards the porch in his haste to take a seat. He watched the lady of the house - who he assumed to be the lady of the house - slip inside as his boots creaked along the decking. Silver tossed his canvas bag against the column at the stairs before moving to sit in one of the two rocking chairs.

It was still early in the morning, a little after six, but Silver noticed a few men had begun their work out in the fields watching some cattle. At this moment, the sun was gently rising, there was still a fair breeze in the air. Silver closed his eyes for a brief moment, allowing the rocking of the chair to sooth him as he became acutely aware of how tired he truly was. But the snapping shut of the porch door, evidently in need of new springs, startled him out of his reverie.

“There we are.” The woman was back and she placed a wooden tea tray of porcelain cups onto the table between the rocking chairs. “How do you take your tea Mr. Silver?” She asked with a gentlewomanly smile while pouring the steeped tea into the cups. 

“Just one sugar.” Silver was used to drinking it black, honestly. Growing up, especially during the war, farm hands weren’t usually granted the luxury of milk and sugar.

Miranda spooned in the sugar while giving it a little stir before handing the cup, and saucer, over to Silver. 

“I quite agree with you, one sugar is the way to take tea.” Silver noticed she added milk to her own cup. “Although, the Rancher on the other hand prefers three! How that man can drink something so sweet will always be beyond me,” Miranda said, more to herself than to Silver.

Nevertheless, John commented: “I hope our difference in taste won’t impede my chances of a job?”

Miranda laughed, an easy smile of joy she wasn’t accustomed to expressing began to settle on her face. The smile made her look younger. “I should say, that should be the least of your concerns Mr. Silver.”

John swallowed hard, wondering if the previous ranch had already sent word regarding the missing documents. It was impossible. It had only been six hours. 

Miranda seemed to perceive the anxiety in Silver’s posture. “No need to fear Mr. Silver, truly, I just meant that our Rancher has been known to be a difficult man; he expects hard work, good work Mr. Silver, honesty, and loyalty. He will not mistreat you - but his demeanour and hard exterior are legend and have been enough to frighten away many a man.” Miranda elegantly took a sip of her tea, her eyes settling on the horizon. 

“Speaking of, where is the Rancher?”

“Why Mr. Silver?” She raised an indignant brow. “Do you not believe a woman capable of holding an interview, or judging another man’s character?”

Silver actually chuckled, giving Miranda a wide blue eyed grin. “On the contrary ma’am, I wouldn’t be surprised to learn that you run this whole place.” 

Miranda looked at him out of the corner of her eye - a small twitch of satisfaction evident at the corner of her lips. “My you are charming,” she remarked, “not that I needed to tell you that, I’m sure.”

Silver scoffed. It was true. Silver knew he was charming, and he was almost pleased that this woman could see right through him so quickly. 

“James is already out with the cattle.” Miranda indicated towards the field, and John followed her gaze but he couldn’t pinpoint any details about the man in question. “I’m Miranda by the way, Miranda Barlow.” She extended a hand towards him. 

John sorely wanted to wipe his dirty hands clean before accepting her shake, but he didn’t know how polite that would be; despite being on a farm, Mrs. Barlow seemed very much a lady. John wouldn’t be surprised if she actually was a lady; it would explain the faint British accent, the English name, the fact that she hadn’t greeted him in Spanish. 

“Pleasure Mrs. Barlow.” 

Their hands met.

“Oh just Miranda is fine.” She sent him a wicked smile. “After all, I think I quite like you John Silver.”

John smirked, feeling comfortable enough to finally enjoy a sip of his tea.

“Now, let’s see these references?” Miranda asked as she set down her cup, prepared to do business.

John fished into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a twice folded piece of paper. He handed it over and apologized for the wrinkles. He studied Miranda’s expression as she read the information. 

“How old are you Mr. Silver?”

John’s brows rose with genuine shock - he knew he looked young - but usually farms didn’t care. “Is that really a necessary question or an interview?”

“Call it necessary for my curiosity.”

John admired her honesty. Indulging her: “I’m twenty-six ma’— Miranda.” 

“You list sixteen years experience? The legal age for work in New Mexico is fourteen not,” she paused to do the math, “ten.”

Silver merely shrugged in response. “Most employers don’t ask my age.”

Miranda gave him a curious look. “So it’s not a lie then?”

Silver only nodded. Silent.

Miranda nodded in return, understanding that many people, for very different circumstances, were forced to rely on their young children to earn a wage. Underage labour and the deportation of illegal workers was something Thomas had been adamantly vocal about when they first arrived in New Mexico. 

Judging by the fact that John hadn’t handed them over with his references, Miranda thought she knew the answer to her next question - so she decided not to ask it. 

“Well everything looks in order.” She kept the references to make a copy for her own records later. “Why don’t I get dressed and I’ll show you around?”

John smiled. “You mean I’ve got the job?”

“On a trial period of course.”

Miranda returned several minutes later, no longer in her housecoat, but instead in a thin cream linen shirt tucked into a high waisted and loose fitting pair of denim pants. She had a kerchief in her hair, revealing the elegant line of her neck. The outfit was in direct contrast to the white homemakers Silver had sometimes seen at the grocery stores in town. 

“Grab your things Mr. Silver, I’ll show you to the barracks first.”

John quickly stood from his chair, grabbing his bag as he hurried down the stairs after Mrs. Barlow who was moving at a ‘no nonsense pace’. 

The barracks were on the far right side of the property. Miranda showed John to his room - he was beyond surprised to find that as a trainer he would be given his own room rather than a bunk in the dormitory. Miranda informed him that several of the employees lived off property with their families and so many of the sleeping quarters were empty. They didn’t have an overly large staff, maybe thirty men. 

Silver dropped off his bag in his room before Miranda continued down the hall to show him the bathroom. 

Once finished with the personal arrangements, they exited the barracks into a grassy field - the white stable in sight. 

“We are a small ranch Mr. Silver; we have a few cattle, pigs, and the chickens of course, but those are primarily to sustain the farm - milk, cheese, meat, and the like, are for our consumption rather than sale. In addition, the contents of our fields and my vegetable patch are for James and myself, as well as the workers. The horses are where the true business is,” she turned over her shoulder to give him a knowing grin as she held open the stable door for him. “We specialize in work horses, for farming, but we also breed and train for private clients - we’ve even had a few acclaimed race horses.” Miranda gestured around the room as she continued to walk past stalls of horses. “This is the main stable, we also board horses here.” They moved down the stables, several horses poking out their heads in interest. Miranda paused in front of a stall, she turned around and grabbed a basket of apples from one of the counters. 

“This here is Aurelius, the Rancher’s personal stallion. He’s old now and not good for much work, but he’s always been a wise horse.”

John nodded as he admired the white short coat and black main of the thick horse. “He is, you can see it in his eyes.”

As if Aurelius could sense an immediate connection with John, the beast poked his head out of the dutch door and nudged his snout towards John. John raised a hand to the beast’s snout, who gave a lively little toss of his head. 

“Would you like to give him a treat?” Miranda withheld a shiny apple to John.

John smiled, taking the apple and offering it flat palmed to Aurelius, who’s warm tongue left the familiar fluids on John’s hand. Miranda admired the soft chuckle the man before her expressed, entirely for his own benefit. He was very gentle and natural with the animals.

“He has a sweet tooth, just like his master; go ahead and give him another.” 

John did so.

“I think he likes you.”

But John did not respond, instead he appeared to be having a wordless conversation with Aurelius. 

Miranda set down the apple basket on the counter. “Well come on, our tour is not finished.”

Silver snapped out of his trance, giving the horse one more pat before he ran to catch up with Miranda in her quest to show him the second set of stables which were connected to the first. 

“We keep the unbroken horses out in the pens to the back right—” she indicated with her hand. “We also have two pens for grazing, we alternate the horses through based on temperament.” Miranda began to walk towards the field on the right until they came to the wooden fence. Miranda let out an exhale, her arms crossed over each other as she dangled them over the fence. She brought her boot covered foot up in order to rest on the lower rail of the fence. Miranda pointed to a dark brown mare in a paddock blocked off from the pen - the horse had a good height to her, and reasonably thick haunches. “That right there is Walrus, you’ll be working with her.”

“Her? I thought you got in a stallion—” 

“We do.” Miranda searched through the field for a moment before her eyes caught him, an imposing chestnut red horse with long sleek legs, good sized hoofs, and a muscled hind quarter. “L’urca de Lima.” 

“Spanish?” Silver raised a brow beneath his hat. He honestly still hadn’t decided if Mrs. Barlow, Miranda, spoke the people’s native tongue. 

“He’s an import. One of our clients, some wealthy idiot, bought him from Spain; and not being able to speak Spanish, he didn’t realize what unbroken meant.” 

Silver laughed. “And you, you do speak Spanish?”

“I must confess, I read it much better than I can speak it, Mr. Silver. You’ve no doubt guessed I’m from Britain. Only a fool would come to a new place and not attempt to learn the native language.”

Silver nodded beside her. “And why have you named him after a treasure galleon?”

Miranda’s mouth parted, intrigued that Silver had understood the reference, her mind beginning to wonder if he too knew the inspiration behind Aurelius. “Because Mr. Silver, that idiot client sold Urca to us for a steal. That stallion’s got the prized pedigree of a race horse, but he has proven quite unbreakable.” Miranda noted the white gleam in the teeth of the man beside her. “We will all be rich if we can break, train, race, and even breed him. That horse out there Mr. Silver is quite literally a Spanish treasure galleon.”

Silver turned his head towards Mrs. Barlow. “Then how come I’m working with her—” he titled his head towards the dark brown mare in the paddock that separated her from the stallions. 

“Walrus is your probationary horse Mr. Silver. If you can break her and train her, Urca, and the job, are yours.” 

John smiled, impressed by Mrs. Barlow’s business sense and looking forward to the challenge. 

* * *

John’s team consisted of two other trainers, both of whom were also from England. John had quickly realized that this ranch was a safe haven, of a sort, for England’s rejects. Hal Gates, who also happened to be the foreman, was a middle aged man with a rough accent and experience running a farm and supervising horses. Billy Manderly, who helped John with the training, was a giant of a man who was seventy-three percent muscle and arms. The remainder of the staff, the manual labourers, stable boys, and cattle herders, preferred the native Spanish.

John had settled into Hamilton Ranch quite well. He enjoyed the privacy of his room; he enjoyed the meals they were served; he enjoyed the working schedule; he was even starting to get on with Billy, and John wasn’t used to making friends. 

But the thing John was enjoying most about his new job was Walrus. She was a good horse, gentle in her nature, but a little ornery. She just needed someone to take the time to listen to her, and Silver would. Silver had learned from Billy that it had taken them a week just to acclimatize Walrus to people - she was a wild horse they had rescued from a bush-fire. Before Silver had gotten to Hamilton Ranch they had been training Walrus to accept the lunging cavesson - a padded canvas bridle which fortunately she had accepted after two days of interval training and was just beginning to take to the leather bridle. So John had spent his first two days of work letting Walrus get used to his presence, his scent, and his voice; as well as alternating time with the bridle and desensitization training: getting her used to flapping objects accidentally brushing her skin, and shaking blankets near her so she wasn’t spooked by unexpected touches or events. After those two days, John and Walrus had a fast bond and he was certain he could start her ground training in the lunging pen. John always found the circular pens to be quite comforting because he knew this was where he truly formed a bond with the animal. 

They could only work half an hour at a time before they needed to give Walrus a break to embrace her freedom. It did not bode well to over work a horse when you were trying to teach them how to trust. In those thirty minutes, John would stand at the centre of the pen, lead rope in one hand and lunge whip in the other hand: to teach Walrus the commands for speed, and how to communicate with a rider. Walrus was a clever girl and she listened to John well, alternating from walk to trot, even seamlessly switching directions as he pulled on her lead - the horses would get bored if they only ran clockwise. It had only taken John another two days before he knew Walrus was ready to begin saddle training.

* * *

Silver still hadn’t met the Rancher. 

Sometimes, while training, a flash of the Rancher working in the fields would catch Silver’s eye - the man's broad shoulders as he hammered in a fence post, the flash of copper hair as he carried a bail of hay into the stables. He was an enigma - even the other stable hands didn’t interact with him much, and when they did, they all seemed slightly frightened. But Silver wasn’t frightened. He had met true monsters before. 

Billy told Silver not to feel too bad considering the Rancher still didn’t know who Billy was, despite having worked there for years. Mr. Gates knew Mr. Flint well - as Silver had now learned Flint was the Rancher’s surname. Silver had thought it odd that the Rancher and Miranda did not have the same last name despite her wedding ring.

On the subject of Miranda - who John was now on an equal exchange first name basis - she would frequently check on John and Walrus’ progress, often bringing the men a cool glass to quench their thirst. Bust she also did labour in her garden, she took horses out, groomed them, milked cows, and the hen house was her sole responsibility. Silver was beginning to fully appreciate how formidable she was - in some regards she truly was in charge of the ranch. 

* * *

“Who is that?” Flint asked Miranda as she handed him a glass of sweet tea, his lips were getting chapped.

The pair was sitting on the porch together, admiring Walrus as she circled the ring, listening to the soft commands of a young man with narrow hips and tanned skin. 

Miranda had watched them working off and on for two days, making sure Walrus accepted the weight of the saddle before continuing her lunging. 

“That is the new trainer, John I believe is his name.” She said casually, not to allow James to know how fond she already was of the young man. “He says he can help with L’urca de Lima, but I thought I would test him out with Walrus first, to see if he’s as good as he says he is.”

Flint’s gaze narrowed - his eyes fixating on the muscles in the man's arms as he held onto the lead attached to Walrus’ bridle. “He seems to be working well.”

“Yes he does. Gates says he mostly keeps to himself, but he evidently appears to be working hard - he even helps some of the stable boys with mucking.”

Flint grunted and Miranda interpreted this as James acknowledging his interest. 

“You should go introduce yourself. He’s been here a little over a week.”

“A week?” James turned, shocked that the man had been here so long without Miranda telling him.

“Don’t act like you didn’t notice.”

As if to prove her wrong, Flint stood, walking over the loose floorboard he needed to fix and heading over to the lunging pen. Flint approached cautiously, not wanting to spook the horse. Flint was mesmerized when the young man whispered softly and was able to slowly approach Walrus and gently bring a hand up to her snout. The tanned hand with wide fingers brushed the mare’s coat soothingly, the animal completely acquiescing to his touch. A burst of air was issued through the horse’s nostrils with great force as her eyes anxiously looked around. The man continued to soothe the beast until he could gently guide her towards the edge of the pen, bringing her right up to Flint. 

The young man turned to Flint, evidently aware that he had been watching them this entire time. With a cocky grin and eyes as blue as the sea he whispered: “I think she might even let us ride her now.”

Flint raised a brow in challenge. “Well go on then.” 

Usually John would get a horse used to weight on a saddle before attempting a ride. But John felt a connection to Walrus. Besides, he wanted to show off in an effort to impress his new employer - in an effort to gain his trust.

John handed the lead over to Billy, just in case something should go wrong. John whispered softly to Walrus as he brought his foot up to the stirrup. He stepped into the stirrup, raising his body until his stomach was in the saddle, pressing his weight onto Walrus’ back - the horse stuttered at first, shocked by the weight. John hopped off. Giving the mare a calming pat John tried again, leaning half of his weight onto the saddle to give Walrus a feel for the weight of a rider on her back. When she didn’t flinch, Billy led her around the pen, the horse listening to his instructions as she accepted John’s weight. John hopped off, encouraging the horse before repeating the process two more times before he indicated to Billy that he was going to saddle her. John gave a quick smile to Flint before he put his left boot into the stirrup, rising up and swinging his leg over the horses back. Walrus trotted forward immediately, she seemed to be thrown off balance. John whispered to her gently, trying to keep her focused, but she continued to trot on the spot, anxious. When her nostrils started flaring and her head was twitching against the bridle, John knew she was about to buck. Billy tried to pull on the reins, to get her to remember her commands, but she was spooked. Instead of kicking John off she began to gallop anxiously, racing around the ring. 

“You’re going to have to jump or be thrown John!” Gates shouted.

Thinking quickly, John wrapped his arms around Walrus’ neck, lowering his centre of gravity as he attempted to get his boots free from the stirrups on a moving horse. It was fucking difficult. 

His fall to the ground was much less graceful than he had intended it to be. He landed right on his elbow, dirt getting in his eyes as he continued to roll towards the edge of the fence, praying not to be stomped on by a spooked horse. Fortunately, Billy and Gates had gotten a handle on her, calming the girl down and guiding her away from Silver.

Flint opened the gate, entering the pen with a calculating expression on his face as he made his way towards Silver who was clutching his stomach. 

John looked up. His hat had fallen off on his descent and as a result a stray curl fell over one eye, blocking his view as he looked up towards Flint - a false smile of confidence on his own face so as not to admit defeat.

“You know you’re supposed to weight train with the saddle before you ride them.” Flint said matter-of-factly.

“What can I say? I’m over confident?”

Flint let out a controlled chuckle. “I can tell. Although I will say, you stayed on much longer than I thought you would.” Flint held out his hand, offering it to help Silver up.

Silver accepted, standing to his feet and noticing that their hands were still clasped firmly together.

“James Flint.” 

“John Silver.” John smiled in return at the introduction, feeling the firm handshake of the man before him. 

“Welcome to Hamilton Ranch.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a friendly reminder: I make some creative decisions regarding Silver and his background that fit the historical setting of this fic. Please keep in mind that this is a fictional story and all cultures and people, regardless of race and background, should be treated with respect. I’m very aware of cultural appropriation and that is in no way my intent here! In addition, there will be period typical racism (which honestly is still a problem today) in this fic - none of which reflect the views of this author. If you feel I should add more to the tags, please, respectfully, let me know. 
> 
> Now enjoy this beast of a chapter!

His first paying job had been in the stables. As a boy, he had helped his mother pick fruit in the fields, or feed the hens. But after his mother died, after everything was taken away, he had started to work in the stables. He was ten years old and he earned one dollar a day that went right to his father. Silver had complicated feelings where his father was concerned. 

So John didn’t mind cleaning out the stalls or grooming the horses; he found it soothing, a memory of a more peaceful time. It certainly wasn’t part of this job, as a trainer, but sleep evaded John tonight and the prospect of work seemed more appealing than the loneliness.

He didn’t even mind the smell anymore. He shovelled a dirty collection of straw and feces into the bucket he would collect and take to compost. As he worked and his muscles began to ache from a full day of labour John suddenly began to feel weary. Perhaps sleep would not escape him now.

* * *

Miranda wiped her brow, the sun hat not preventing a bead of sweat as it dripped down her face. James had already left the house when she woke up this morning but that wasn’t unusual. What was unusual however, was being greeted by his lurking presence at the hen house; he was leaning against one of the posts waiting for her. The girls were Miranda's responsibility and it was unlikely of Flint to overstep as far as their duties were concerned - so she was shocked to find him here.

“Hello James.”

He said nothing in response as usual. Instead, he seemed keen to watch her collect the eggs. After moments of silence - save for Miranda talking to the hens - she handed James a bucket and instructed: “You can lay out the feed then.”

James took the bucket, tossing out the chicken feed and watching as Miranda ushered the hens out of the coup.

Miranda wiped a hand on her pant leg, the basket of fresh eggs held safely in the other.

“Would you like a baby?” James blurted out and Miranda was so stunned she nearly lost her footing. 

She didn’t know whether to laugh or cry - until she realized that James did not joke. He was being absolutely serious. Suddenly, crying seemed like the right option.

“Excuse me?”

“You’re unhappy Miranda.”

It felt like a punch to her gut. “When has that ever mattered before?”

He knew that she had said it just to hurt him and he knew that, in some regards, she was right. “It matters Miranda,” he said affirmatively, as if to vow it into existence. “I want you to be happy.” His own happiness was inconsequential. “I want to fix this.”

Miranda scoffed at the ludicrous nature of his statement before setting down the basket of eggs out of fear that she might break them. “How would a child fix this,” she gestured between them.

“You would have company, someone to care for: someone to care for you.”

“I can receive companionship, unconditional love, from a dog James.” She spat at him, watching the way his cheeks winced. “A child would just be another thing for you to pretend to love.”

“I do not pretend to love—”

“It’s different James,” Miranda interrupted with the tears in the corner of her eyes. “We have a different kind of love James, you and I. I can’t … I can’t give you what it is you need, and the same applies to me.” She picked up the basket of eggs and brushed past James towards the gate of the chicken pen. She turned over her shoulder. “A child won’t fix this James.”

* * *

They never stayed cross with one another for very long - Miranda didn’t find it productive to add to their misery, especially not when they were such good partners, not while they had a farm to run together. 

“About this morning,” Miranda began as they took their evening cup of tea on the porch. The sun was beginning to set and many of the workers had retired for their evening meal - save for Silver and Billy who were trying to coax Walrus towards the gate of the lunging pen and lead her back to her paddock. 

“I’m sorry,” Flint apologized. 

“No I shouldn’t have snapped at you. You had good intentions.” 

James leaned forward and took her hand within his own. “Really, if I can do anything for your happiness - I will welcome another man into this house if he were to be your happiness! But I need you to know that I am too selfish to let you go.” He brought her knuckles up to his lips and gave them a kiss. 

“I would never leave James. I do love you. This is our home, it was Thomas’ home. Is that what this was really about? Were you worried I was going to leave?”

James looked out towards the fields, his eyes catching a glimpse of Mr. Silver laughing. “Yes,” he mumbled.

“I love you James.” She brought a hand up to his cheek and said, “You are my family.”

* * *

They had finally trained Walrus to accept the saddle and begin accepting weight. John had a very slight build, and he was perfect for weight training. Billy would lead Walrus around with John half on her back. Walrus was a little weary to accept the weight, given Silver’s previous stunt, but she was a trusting horse. They worked in very short intervals, to give her frequent breaks. But with each practice she was accepting more and more of Silver’s weight, while still listening to Billy’s commands. Soon they might be able to practice speeds with the weight intervals. 

It was difficult work, mostly for the fact that Silver’s stomach ached: having to be forced against the hard lines of the saddle. 

They were working in the heat of the day and they found their patience thinning and Walrus becoming more ornery as they went on. Silver took off his hat, wiping the sweat from his brow while Gates called for a break. They took the saddle off Walrus, planning to give her a much earned hose down after they led her towards the water trough for a drink. 

Feeling overheated, John grabbed a spare bucket and filled it with water from the trough. He placed his hat on a nearby fence post. Lifting the heavy bucket, John doused himself with water, shaking it out of his thick black curls and letting it run down his bronzed skin. His tank top was soaked through and it felt delicious. When he blinked the water from his eyes he noticed the rancher, Flint, leaning against the stable wall and staring at him. 

John felt his nipples harden, he knew they would be peaking through his shirt, hard and wanting. John swallowed, sweat clinging to his Adam’s apple. He was keen to keep eye contact with the devil, challenging him, as he reached out for his hat and whistled to get Walrus’ attention. 

* * *

It continued like that for a week - secret glances. It became so that John could feel his gaze on him - feel it in the prickle of his skin as sweat dripped down his body. It was distracting. It made him more agitated and sometimes even spooked Walrus - which is not what John needed. He was beginning to like it at Hamilton Ranch - a dangerous feeling - and he wanted to prove that he could be the one to break the unbreakable horse. 

Silver had even begun to suspect that Flint was doing it on purpose; Flint had stood in the field one day, washing down Aurelius after he had taken him out for a ride. Flint was shirtless. That was how Silver became aware of all the freckles - they practically sparkled in the sun. Flint’s strong arms were littered with them, his back lightly dusted, the sweat dripping off the hard plains. Silver even noticed soft red hair around the man’s nipples and a crescent moon tattooed on his arm. The scene left John half hard and in search of a bucket of water to douse himself. 

A man that fair should not walk around shirtless in the New Mexican sun. It was at this point that John was absolutely certain the Rancher’s actions were intentional. 

* * *

“I see you’ve convinced her to take the saddle with no issue anymore!” Miranda shouted out to John as he stood at the centre of the lunging pen. They had faced a minor setback with Walrus in regards to the saddle training, she wasn’t keen on accepting the weight anymore, so they went back to ground training her with the saddle on, and adding a sandbag as a small weight source. 

John clicked his tongue to the roof of this mouth, getting Walrus’ attention before lightly flicking the lunging whip at her to slow from a gallop to a trot, another flick and she slowed to a walk before he pulled on her lead to signal a stop. John clicked his tongue again, guiding Walrus towards him, staying on her left side. 

John sent Miranda a smile. “She’s been listening very well.”

“I can see that. She’s gotten the commands down nicely - you two seem to have a special bond.”

John gave the horse a pat on her snout as he led her towards the fence, bringing the mare towards Miranda. “Just let her get a sniff first, then she’ll tell you whether or not she’ll let you pat her.”

Miranda held out her left hand - the other holding a tray of lemonade. She waited as Walrus took the offering, sniffing quickly then letting a burst of air from her snout before turning her head to the side. Miranda smiled. A horse’s indifference was actually a good sign, it meant they were comfortable around you. Taking the cue, Miranda gave Walrus a smooth pat along her snout, reveling in the whinnies of the formerly wild mare. 

Just then, Billy walked over. “She’ll be ready for proper weight training tomorrow - she hasn’t fought us with the saddle at all in the last few days. I reckon she’ll let Silver ride her in two days.”

Miranda smiled. “That’s good news.” Miranda remembered the drinks under her arms; “I brought you refreshments.”

“Excellent!” Billy said as he took a glass, chugging it down in one gulp.

“Billy!” Mr. Gates shouted. “Go take her down for a wash and then put her in her paddock.

“Will do.” Billy wiggled his eyebrows at the command, handed the glass back to Miranda, and then took the lead from John. 

John put down the whip, hanging it against the fence before accepting a glass from Miranda. “Thank you Miranda, this is very thoughtful of you.” He took a long drink - the refreshing, tangy, liquid sliding down his throat. “It’s been a long time since I’ve worked on a ranch this welcoming.” Most ranches treated men without papers like dirt - Miranda hadn’t even asked him yet, although he suspected she knew, she was too smart not to.

“So you’re settling in well?”

John smirked, revealing his crooked grin. “I’m usually used to looking out for myself, but I find I enjoy working in tandem with the other trainers and staff.” For the first time in a long time, John had finally found people who needed him, who valued his contribution to their enterprise. 

Just then Mr. Gates joined them. “Where did you find this talented little shit Ms. Barlow?”

Miranda laughed fondly. “He found us Hal.”

“I’ve never seen a man work so well with a horse,” Hal pat Silver on the back before taking a glass from Miranda. “Mind if I go drink this by the river Miranda? I’ll bring it by the house when I’m done.”

“Of course.” Miranda smiled when Gates raised the glass to her. He took a sip and made a dramatic sound of pleasure before hopping over the fence.

“The river?” John questioned, thinking he would love a swim.

“It’s just past the building where we keep the tractor.” Miranda took a sip of her own drink. “You’re welcome to use it at your leisure.”

John nodded, thinking that he would as he brought the glass to his lips for another drink. 

“And James,” Miranda subtly began, “has Mr. Flint been … civil.”

Silver was caught off guard by the question. He swallowed the lemonade too fast, covering his cough by taking another swig. 

Miranda smiled knowingly. She thought she had caught John looking once or twice - but that could have been because James was so stubbornly allusive. 

“Speaking of James,” Miranda saw him approach from the left - he was a sucker for lemonade.

“Mr. Silver,” Flint acknowledged as Miranda handed him her glass to finish. 

“Sir.”

Miranda laughed.

James flinched.

John blushed.

“There’s no need to call him sir, John. Flint is fine, isn’t that right James?” She raised a prompting brow as if to say ‘put this poor man out of his misery’.

Flint grunted before occupying his lips with lemonade in a lame attempt to avoid communication. Miranda rolled her eyes. 

“That means Flint is acceptable.”

John gave an awkward nod. “Flint,” he tested it out on his lips, and when he wasn’t punched in the face by the enigmatic rancher he figured it was, in fact, acceptable. 

Deciding to test her theory, Miranda went on, full force. “Now that you’re both here, John I noticed that you apply sun location frequently throughout the day.”

When John heard Flint’s feral growl he stiffened, unsure of what exactly was happening right now. “Yes, I do,” he responded but his uncertainty made it almost sound like a question. Dumbfounded, he continued: “I might be quite tanned in colour, but that doesn’t stop skin cancer.”

“See!” Miranda scolded Flint. “Look at this fool!” Miranda reached towards James, she pulled down the collar of his white t-shirt, quite far, to reveal soft white skin peppered with freckles and chest hair, the skin above was red, irritated, and burned. 

John swallowed, catching a glance at the edge of a nipple, his eyes widening.

Flint quickly pulled his shirt back up before thrusting the glass at Miranda. “Thank you for the lemonade.”

Miranda smirked, looking back at John; her premonition had been entirely right. “I keep telling him, he’s much too fair not to use sun location,” she watched Silver nod as he watched Flint leave, “but he's a stubborn fool.”

* * *

Silver hadn’t been able to focus for the rest of the day. As a result, sleep also eluded him; mostly because he refused to think about Flint’s nipples, or his tan lines, or rubbing sun location on him! John groaned, rolling out of bed. He pulled on his favourite pair of denims and grey tank top, it was a humid night tonight. He left his hat, on account of moonlight, closed the door to his room, and headed down to the stables. 

Most of the stalls were already clean and a few of the horses were asleep too, their breath even as their heads lulled down in sleep. 

John noticed a fresh pile of shit in Ranger’s stall; the horse was awake so he decided to go in, clean the stall and clear his mind. 

He had hated mucking out when he was a boy; the shovel was always two times his weight and he had a knack for stepping right in the hidden piles of shit. But John still loved the horses. He had always begged his father to let him ride them, lead them to pasture, he even wanted to help break them. But John’s father had said:  _ “All trainers must start as stable boys, that’s the way it works. You must learn to do this first, to bond with and trust the animals, to really care for them. You must be one with the animals' spirit.”  _ And so John learned. He was a quick learner. Soon enough his father had begun to let John act as a weight when saddle training: he would lay, with his stomach down and half his weight on the saddle as his father led the horse around in an effort to get the animal accustomed to the weight of a rider. 

But those days had been short lived. 

John picked up the pitchfork and began re-adjusting the hay for Ranger’s benefit. 

“There you go boy.” John gave the horse a pat before exiting the stall and locking it behind him. 

John continued down the stables, ducking his head in to see if there were any he could clean. When one horse in particular stuck his head out, as if in greeting, John smiled. “Hello Aurelius.” John moved towards the horse who nodded his head in excitement as he approached. “How would you like a nice grooming?” Silver asked. 

Eyeing a nearby body brush and pocketing a mane comb, Silver began to groom the horse. He gently ran the body brush over Aurelius’ snout, noticing the way the horse closed his eyes in enjoyment. Aurelius’ coat was not dirty, but John knew how lovely it felt to have someone attend to you with a gentle touch; his mother used to run her fingers through his curls in order to get him to fall asleep. Pulling out the mane comb Silver brought it to the dark black hairs. “That’s nice isn’t it,” he cooed at the horse. 

“What are you doing to my horse?”

Silver froze. He took a step back out of uncertainty. “I was just - I’m sorry - I was just giving him a brush.”

“You think I don't properly groom my own horse?” Flint asked, the heels of his boots scraping against the floor as he moved towards his horse. 

“Of course not, his coat is pristine I … I just couldn’t sleep.”

James reached a hand out to rest on the side of Aurelius’ face. “So you come here when you can’t sleep?”

“This is where I started.” Silver looked in Aurelius’ eye, for it was easier to communicate with a horse than it was to be vulnerable with another human being. “When I feel that I am alone, this is what reminds me of a home that is only memory.” 

John watched as Aurelius’ tongue darted out to run over his master’s hand, indicating he wanted a treat but was sorely disappointed when he realized Flint didn’t have anything of value. 

John’s brows furrowed, a moment of thought. “Why are you here?” he asked, noting he wasn’t the only one who wasn’t where he was supposed to be right now.

“Couldn't sleep either.” Flint said gruffly, not wanting to bring attention to the fact that these men shared another thing in common. “Well go on then,” he gave Silver a commanding look, “bring him out of the stall; he seems to be enjoying it, so let’s give him a proper groom.” 

John immediately unlocked the dutch door while Flint put a loose rope bridle on Aurelius and tied him to one of the stall posts. John closed the door behind the horse and handed Flint the body brush he had been using, finding his own in one of the kits on the wall. They brushed the horse down in silence, admiring the shine of the soft white coat, peppered in black spots, almost like Flint’s freckles. 

It was quiet for a long time, until Silver courageously offered a conversation starter. “My father used to own horses.” 

“Used to?” James flicked his eyes towards John, genuine interest in his voice. 

“I was orphaned as a boy.”

James nodded. “My family is long gone as well, except for Miranda.” There was a beat, a moment when they focused on brushing the horse and Flint unintentionally took a step closer to Silver. He began, softly this time, “I’m sorry about earlier today.”

John swallowed his mind taking note of the downy hair on Flint’s arms and how it mirrored that of which he knew to be on his chest. 

“Miranda is a modern woman and there is—”

They both froze. Their hands had accidentally touched as they moved to brush the same spot on Aurelius’ coat. 

They parted quickly, pretending it didn’t happen; but more importantly, pretending it didn’t matter to either of them.

“She’s right.” John cleared his throat, taking note of the tension in Flint’s body. “Your skin is too fine, you don’t want to damage it.”

Flint smirked, a tight lipped and slightly unforgettable smile. “She’ll be pleased to hear you agree with her. 

They continued on in silence, both aware of some unspoken thing beginning to build.

* * *

Weight training was Silver’s least favourite part about breaking a horse. Being a man of slight build he was often tasked as the one responsible for bearing his weight onto the saddle - which meant he had to trust someone else to lead the horse while he acted as virtual dead weight. At other ranches this had always been a problem because Silver did not trust easily. But at Hamilton Ranch, things were different. He was beginning to feel like he belonged and so he could trust Billy to lead Walrus as Mr. Gates looked on. 

They had started small, using the sandbag as Billy led her around at a walk - they couldn’t test more commands until she was comfortable with weight. They did this at fifteen minute intervals until they replaced the bag’s weight, with John’s. John had one leg in the stirrup and gave the girl about half his weight while Billy led her around. When they managed this with John’s full weight distributed on the saddle, his body slumped over Walrus’ back as his belly dug into the saddle they knew they could try it in the lunging pen with commands. 

When they got her into the lunging pen Billy ran her around a few times to make sure she was listening to his commands - she was used to following John’s orders. When Walrus was ready, John slung his stomach onto the saddle, his head down and his ass in the air as Billy started her off at a walk. Soon she was trotting with John’s weight, listening to Billy’s commands and alternating her speeds. She was definitely ready to take a rider tomorrow.

* * *

“They’re working much quicker than I thought they would.” Flint said to Miranda as she handed him a nail. Flint took the nail and began to hammer the loose floorboard on the porch. 

Miranda waited for the echoing to dissipate before responding. “It seems we have finally found the right team.”

“I was a little surprised to find Silver working so well with the others; he seems like the solitary sort.”

Miranda hummed in acknowledgement as she handed him the final screw. In some regards, James’ thinking was ironic because most considered himself to be a solitary sort as well. “I just think he hasn’t found the right people yet.”

“And you think he has now?”

Miranda’s mouth parted - shocked by the vulnerability and hidden honesty within James’ statement - but he didn’t give her time to respond before he continued his work. She flinched when he began hammering in the last nail.

When he finished, James rested the hammer on the railing and retired to his rocking chair and glass of cold water.

Miranda stood still, slowly moving towards the railing and looking out at their farm.

“James?” she asked lightly, the promise of more on her tongue. 

No response. 

“James?”

“Yes?”

“What do you think of John Silver?”

“It does not matter what I think of him so long as he does his job.” James deflected, his cheek twitching. “Why? What do you think of him?”

Miranda smirked - but James couldn’t see it. She didn’t respond.

“Miranda?”

She turned, learning her back against the railing. “I think he is skilled: talented.”

“The two of you have become friendly with each other.” James noted as she walked closer to him.

“He’s an easy man to like - very charming. He’s also quite kind.”

James didn’t know where she was going with this - he wasn’t sure of her angle.

“He’s also gorgeous, don’t you think?”

James clenched his jaw in warning, whether to Miranda, or himself, even he didn’t know. That was the problem, he didn’t know. He didn't know if she was trying to tease him. He didn’t know if she was being genuine - voicing her interest. He didn’t know, but he fucking  _ felt _ something. He schooled his face, not allowing the jealousy to seep through.

“His skin is so enticing: young, golden; his hips are narrow; his chest—”

“I know what he looks like Miranda!” he snapped. He looked away from her, bringing a hand up to his face. His eyes narrowed in thought, his cheek twitched _again_. He looked back at her. “What is this really about Miranda?”

Miranda hesitated. “Could he make you happy?”

“For fuck’s sake Miranda!” James stood up with his rage. “Is that what this is about?”

“You said that you would welcome another man into this house for the sake of my happiness, well I am telling you that I will do the same James.”

“My happiness is of no consequence Miranda.”

“Yes it is!” Miranda raised her palms to tentatively place them on his chest and quell their rage. “It matters James. I am used to sacrificing my happiness for my partners, to adapting to it. Seeing Thomas happy—” 

“Enough.” Flint warned but Miranda spoke over him. 

“Seeing Thomas happy with you improved our relationship.”

“It’s not the same Miranda. Do not push this.” He ground his teeth, his jaw moving in clenched anger.

Miranda paused, crossing her arms over her chest. “Are you ashamed?”

James blanched. Every ounce of colour dropped from his face. “How could you say that," he shouted at Miranda. "After Thomas, you know that I am not!” 

“Then what are you waiting for?" Miranda countered, her temper enough to rival Flint's. "What are you denying or trying to rationalize? I see the way you look at him, the way he looks at you. He will welcome this James.” 

James looked out into the field, his gaze catching Silver as he led Walrus to the trough - John himself had clearly been watching their argument because he quickly shielded his eyes beneath the brim of his hat.

“What if you’re wrong?” Flint’s voice was hushed and broken with anxieties influenced by a past of repression and uncertainty. “What if he’s disgusted and wants to leave?”

Miranda smiled, turning around to spot out John. When she caught his nosy gaze Silver brought a hand up to the brim of his hat and gave them both a little nod, his gaze lingering at Flint.

“Do you see it James?” she said softly this time.

James allowed his eyes to roam over Silver’s muscles. His face twitched. “I do.”

Miranda brushed up against Flint’s side until she could lean her head against his shoulder. 

“If he can make you happy, it will help things James.”

Flint sighed, his shoulders heaving and jostling Miranda slightly. “I’m scarred,” he admitted.

Miranda clasped his hand within her own, trapped between their sides. “I know.”

* * *

Ever since Miranda had mentioned a river on the property, Silver had been dying to have a swim. His mother had been the one to teach him how to swim; his father had thought it an unnecessary skill for a farm boy, but his mother was always afraid that he might accidentally slip into the nearby stream while skipping stones. So she had taken him to the creak, taught him to hold his breath, taught him to float, and finally, taught him to swim. Having the skill had turned out to be life saving. When John was eleven the Rancher’s son and his gang of friends had pushed John into a murky river and attempted to hold him under the water. He remembered thinking he was going to die in that moment, that he would finally get to see his mother again. But he had managed to hold his breath long enough and flail his arms until a voice shouting from the bank had sent the boys scattering. It was John’s father. John could still feel the sting of embarrassment as his father looked at his mop of wet curls with disappointment and called him a _ “niño tonto” _ \- foolish boy. He told John not to trust people like them, people who only pretended to be his friend. 

John didn’t make friends very easily. John didn’t trust others. 

Despite this, John loved to swim. Every time he closed his eyes and submerged himself underneath - weightless - he felt closer to his mother.

John had brought with him a little towel and a bar of soap Miranda had been kind enough to purchase for him. They had worked all morning with Walrus to ensure that she would be ready for riding tomorrow. As a result, John was sticky with sweat and sore from having his stomach jostled in the saddle - a relaxing swim and good scrub was just what he needed. 

John had left his hat in his room and began by pulling the tank top over his head and tossing it on top of the towel. His hand went to the buckle of his jeans, undoing the metal fastening and pulling the leather throughout the trouser loops. He undid the button and zipper of his denims and without ceremony he pushed his pants and underwear over his ass simultaneously, leaving him naked. 

John walked towards the edge of the water. The light colour of his firm ass was illuminating in the sun in contrast to the dark tan of the rest of his body. John tested the water with his toe, finding it warmed by the heat of the sun's rays. Pleased with the temperature John ran into the water waist deep before diving in. When he emerged some distance later he shook his head aggressively, water droplets flying from his curls. He had to blink his eyes a few times to adjust before he began floating on his back. The river was more of a pond, except for the area of water that narrowed and continued off property at some point; John didn’t need to worry about drifting off as his mind was occupied by making shapes out of the clouds. He continued to float around until he decided to swim and splash, dunking his head under and trying to collect pebbles from the river bed. 

After spending some time enjoying himself John decided to wade up to the bank and grab his bar of soap.

* * *

James didn’t mean to intentionally spy on Silver. After his talk with Miranda the other day he thought that maybe he should make himself transparent to Silver. There had been signs - even James had to admit he picked up on them - but one had to be very cautious when they were … sexually inclined as James was. So after he had noticed that John and Billy put Walrus in her paddock he had resolved to seek out John and speak with him. He had been surprised when he found him at the river. He had approached cautiously, standing behind one of the trees just to gain the courage. But then he had seen him. At first James had told himself to look away, to respect this man's privacy, but then John had walked up to the water’s edge - naked - and grabbed a bar of soap.

John was standing in knee deep water, his bare ass facing the river bed and on display as he bent down to dip the soap into the water. Flint groaned, unable to look away at this point. He knew voyeurism was wrong, specifically when consent was absent, so he made no move to hide his presence and walked to stand by the pile of John’s clothes.

John wasn’t the largest of men; he was short, had narrow hips, a lithe form, and he was incredibly fit and muscled from years of manual labour. His ass was gorgeous and firm - James wanted to spread apart his cheeks and bury his face in his hole. James clenched his fists as he watched John run soap along his bronzed arm. Water dripped off his form as soap suds fell into the river. James was beginning to feel a familiar feeling tugging at his groin when he knew John was running the soap along his chest. James desperately envisioned the man’s nipples while admiring the planes of his back. Just as John began to bend over and reach behind his knee he dropped the bar of soap.

“Ah shit!” Silver exclaimed as he reached into the water, his hand feeling around the river bed and pulling up rocks rather than soap. “Shitting fuck!” he cursed and was startled to all hell when he heard a building chuckle come from the river bank. Recognition swept across John’s face and then a hint of a pink glow. He immediately took two steps back, feeling the water in the crack of his ass.

From this vantage point James could still clearly see the base of John’s cock and the dark curls around it. He didn’t avert his gaze, he made it very clear to Silver as his eyes darted between John’s blue eyes and his cock, which appeared to be swelling slightly.

His hands moved before his mind had agreed upon an appropriate action. His heart was beating quickly as he pulled the shirt over his head. He watched with interest as John seemed to take an involuntary step further into the water. James pressed forwards - stepping out of his trousers one leg at a time. For the briefest of moments he debated keeping his underwear on, but he wanted them to be on equal ground. With a deep breath he took them off. 

It had been over ten years since another man had seen him naked - he was glad that watching John bathe had already brought him to half mast. Walking down the shore he maintained eye contact with John - who had now swam into shoulder depth. James sighed as he entered the water. It was warm, although still a good ten degrees cooler than the outside temperature. 

He was careful not to swim too close to John; they were already in dangerous waters figuratively speaking. 

Neither men spoke, they simply stared at one another as they waded in the water. It was with this moment of intimate eye contact that James became aware of the layers of secrets in John’s cerulean eyes. James knew that this man before him held the capacity to be his undoing and James would welcome it. 

James was shocked when John slowly disappeared beneath the water. James looked all around him for some hint of John’s movements, a ripple of water, but John appeared to be a very stealth swimmer. Next thing James knew, John appeared in front of him and sent a splash of water right to his face. James smiled through the unexpected gesture, his eyes closing upon reflex before aimlessly splashing back at John. John began to swim away, his feet kicking up water at James.

“No you don't!” James shouted, feeling carefree and joyful like he never had before, not even as a child. 

He reached out and managed to grab John’s ankle. John let out a little yelp as James pulled him closer. The closer John became, the further James' hand travelled up his leg until his fingers were near John’s mid thigh and he managed to kick free. 

They were mere inches from one another now, their feet brushing against each other as they tread water, their smiles of mirth mirrored. 

All too soon James swallowed, his playful air dropping into the pit of his stomach as he focused on John’s lips. John bounced forward slightly, the tips of his toes pushing off the muddy river bed.

James panicked. With an apology gleaming in his green eyes he began to walk out of the river, not concerned about the view of his ass he was giving Silver. He bent down to pick up his clothes, glancing at John with his peripheral vision - he saw the look of disappointment and confusion on the young man’s face. Deciding not to give John the wrong idea about what this had meant to him he turned to face the water.

And he was hard.

His cock was full and bouncing against his stomach as he made eye contact with Silver - who’s mouth parted quite prettily as he stared at the cock offered to him. James pulled his shirt on, all while maintaining eye contact. Feeling bold, James picked up John’s towel and used it to dry off his thighs and then his cock. James was certain he could come with just two good tugs and Silver’s pretty smile, so he tried to be as quick as possible before putting on his underwear and pants - which he had to adjust with an audible groan of tenderness. He left John there. In the water. His mouth agape. 

* * *

John floated on his back in celebration, his own cock proudly resting against his stomach.

This thing in John’s head between himself and Flint had just become concrete, had just been given life. 

Suddenly John frowned, wondering what this would mean for Miranda.

* * *

Today was the day. John was going to ride Walrus.

They had spent the morning portion of her training reviewing commands and weight training. Walrus had performed as commanded in every task. She was ready to accept John.

Miranda was observing from behind the fence, Mr. Gates by her side.

Silver was glad that Flint was nowhere to be seen - he didn’t need a distraction like that, especially given what happened at the river yesterday. 

John nodded to Billy who stood at Walrus’ side, one hand firmly on her bridle as John put a foot into the stirrups; he pushed up with his foot, using the leverage to swing his leg over the saddle and successfully mount Walrus. 

“That’s a good girl!” John celebrated, giving Walrus a playful pat before sending a positive smile to Miranda. John gave the signal to Billy so that he could begin guiding them around the pen. Walrus would have to show that she could follow commands while being guided before they could allow her to venture solo with a rider.

They continued guiding her in fifteen minute on, fifteen minute off, increments. When it seemed like Walrus was getting bored, Gates suggested they take her out of the pen and guide her through the property to see how she dealt with the sensory overload. They worked at a walk, Billy leading the pair as Silver sat atop her. Until Gates called for a lunch break.

Lunch was an unremarkable affair of tune sandwiches - for the humans - courtesy of Miranda, and a few carrot treats for Walrus. After their break, Billy insisted that they let Silver ride Walrus around the lunging pen, with no guide; they were all fairly certain Walrus was ready for it.

“This is it girl.” John said, running a hand over the mares’ chest. It’s time for you to prove that you and I know what we’re doing - we’ve got to prove our value to them.”

Walrus gave a little nod, almost as if agreeing with John. The action made him laugh.

“Right then.” John glanced at Gates waiting for his final advice.

“Don’t push her too hard. She’s not used to the spurs yet.”

John nodded in understanding: he never wore spurs himself but he knew Gates was referring to the commands he would be teaching Walrus using his feet in the stirrups. Some people wore spurs to ensure the horse felt the command, but John didn’t see the need for it - not if you were properly connected to the horse.

“Good luck!” Miranda added from the edge of the pen.

Silver mounted Walrus easily. He pulled at her reins and clicked his teeth, getting her to change direction so they could walk counterclockwise around the pen. Everyone was smiling. Walrus was taking her strides confidently and things became really exciting when on their sixth lap John squeezed his legs together and commanded her to trot - Walrus didn’t miss a beat. She even responded well to the gallop and commands to change directions. They had broken her!

All that would be left was to repeat the training over the next few days to make sure she was comfortable with everything. They could even get her into her own stable stall now, and give her grazing time with the other trained horses.

“Brilliant job,” Miranda congratulated as John dismounted and Billy took Walrus in order to set her up in the stables.

John tensed. He had been nervous around Miranda all day given what had happened yesterday. John had no idea what her true relationship with Flint was - not that it mattered, not that there was any socially acceptable way for himself to entertain a relationship with Flint, let alone the thoughts he had about the man.

“It was a team effort really.”

“Yes I can see that. Both James and myself are very pleased to see you working well with the rest of the crew. You seem to have become quite vital to their success.”

John took his hat off and wiped the sweat off his brow with his forearm. He didn’t respond directly to Miranda.

“James was sorry that he couldn’t be here to watch you ride; a neighbouring ranch needed an extra hand with a foal in distress. He said it was probably for the best though. He said that he probably shouldn’t see you right now.”

John’s heart dropped. It sounded like Miranda knew. It sounded like James regretted it. If the scene at the river yesterday had somehow been the source of tension between Miranda and Flint, John knew that he would be forced to leave - just when he was finally beginning to feel at home.

“Do you know why that might be the case?” Miranda prompted when John remained silent. When  James had told her about what happened at the river and she had been overjoyed. But when James had begun to second guess himself Miranda knew she needed to, once again, intervene - but only a little. “I’m sure it’s no matter really. Why don’t you come up to the house and join us for dinner tonight, in honour of breaking Walrus? Dinner’s at five o’clock. There is also an additional matter I would like to discuss with you tonight.” Before she could give him time to reject her offer Miranda had walked off towards her garden.

* * *

She knew. John was certain that Miranda knew about what had transpired between himself and Flint. This dinner was probably their nice, civilized way of kicking him off their property. 

Despite this John had combed his hair, put on a rip free pair of denims and the one white dress shirt he had purchased for a funeral years back. John had been known to charm his way out of a bad situation before; there was a slim chance he could do so tonight, but he was willing to give it his best effort.

John knocked on the screen door.

“It’s open,” Miranda called out from the open window. 

The farmhouse entered straight into the warm kitchen. The kitchen had white cabinets, a timeless wooden block countertop and a large white sink. John was surprised to notice the relatively new ice box; he supposed that was why Miranda's lemonade was always so refreshing. 

“Come on in John.” 

The floorboards creaked under his feet as John took another step inside. He noticed Miranda looked a little frazzled, the tendrils of hair that had escaped her ponytail were sticking to the side of her face, damp with sweat from the heat of the oven. 

When Miranda got a proper look at John, she froze. “My, you do clean up nicely John.”

John blushed. Even though he was anxious, Miranda just had this nature that put everyone at ease. 

“Just go on through to the dining room,” she pointed through a door at the right corner of the kitchen. 

Miranda had laid out table settings with fine porcelain and silverware. There were three place mats set, two at the respective ends of the table, and one at the middle which Silver assumed was his seat. John hadn’t expected to see such opulence in a farmhouse. 

Miranda entered a few moments later with a warm meatloaf. When she took off her apron she was wearing a light blue gingham dress that was cinched at the waist with a white bow. John had to swallow because he had never seen her in a dress before. 

“You look beautiful,” he blurted out, hoping it came across more suave than surprised. But judging by the raised brow he received from Miranda it did not have the desired effect. 

“You are too kind John.” She began to serve up the meatloaf, the rest of the food already displayed on the dinner set. “James will be joining us shortly, he is still at the Rackham estate.”

John only nodded, feeling like he was stuck in a trap as Miranda handed him a glass of wine and began to toast him. 

“To Walrus,” she said and John echoed the sentiment as they clinked their glasses together. “And to you,” she added with a wise grin, “welcome to Hamilton Ranch.”

“Welcome?” John questioned out of genuine shock as he watched Miranda take a calm sip of her drink. “You mean I can stay?”

“The deal was, you break Walrus and you earn a spot at this ranch and a chance to train L’urca de Lima.”

John stared dumbfoundedly down at his plate of potatoes, broccoli, and meatloaf. 

“But I suppose there is one issue we must discuss first.”

John dug his fingers into his thighs, hidden beneath the table. This was it. She was going to kick him out for having vile lustful thoughts towards her … partner.

“You have no papers.”

John blinked. It felt like someone had just thrown a rock at his chest. This was not what he was expecting, but in some regards it was worse. Much worse. 

“Hornigold called me the day after you arrived at the ranch. Did you really think I wouldn’t take note of the fact that you neglected to present them when you gave me your references?”

John’s brows pinched towards the bridge of his nose. “You’ve known since I arrived here?” he questioned. “Then how come you’ve let me stay this long?”

Miranda chewed a delicate mouthful of potatoes before responding. “I wanted to see if you were as good as you said you were - if there was a chance you could break Urca.” She paused, lines of melancholy sweeping onto her face. “Besides, my late husband Thomas was passionate about crusading against the treatment of immigrant and illegal workers.”

John stored the information about Miranda’s deceased husband in the back of his mind. “I’m not really illegal,” John defended. “I just don’t have papers,” he winced. 

Miranda raised a brow as she raised her fork to her mouth, communicating that she would need a more detailed explanation. 

“My father was half Pueblo,” he hung his head ready to be judged, “my mother was white. Neither tribe would accept me. My father was already shunned as a half-breed, my mother was disowned by her family, yet they still made a living together. But when the white men came and took my father’s farm by force, I can only assume my birth certificate was lost.” He looked back up at Miranda whose face bore no disgust, or sympathy, but only understanding. “I will never have any papers, but you can be sure that this land has been the closest thing to home for me.” 

“Well that’s settled then.” 

“Wait, are you saying I can stay?”

Miranda smiled. “Of course, although, it’s probably best if I mention it to James at a later date.”

John agreed, looking down at the home cooked meal Miranda had prepared for him and felt sick for the secret he was still keeping.

“To your new home then,” Miranda raised her glass again and John accepted it with a false smile.

* * *

Flint washed his hands and face in a bucket on the porch before entering the house. He could smell meatloaf and he was starving. When James entered the dining room he was struck by how gorgeous John and Miranda looked. 

“Hello James! John’s here to celebrate. He rode Walrus today.”

James nodded. “Good, good,” he repeated before looking down at his plaid flannel and jeans. “Give me a moment to freshen up,” he said apologetically as he bolted upstairs to change into his dress pants and a maroon coloured dress shirt that was slightly too small in the shoulders and chest. 

When he returned, Miranda had heated his plate for him in the oven and was ready to join the meal. 

James sat down and took a long sip of wine before digging into his meal with polite eagerness. He began to fend off Miranda’s pleasantries about the foal at the Rackham estate and was relieved when Miranda turned her attention to John and began asking questions about Walrus. 

But James nearly choked on his own spit the moment Miranda casually stated: “So how did you find the river John?”

John immediately looked to his left, catching Flint’s glare of unease before turning back to match Miranda's smug expression. “It’s lovely.”

Miranda let out a soft chuckle, enjoying the uncomfortable look on both boys' faces. “James has already told me John.”

“Told you what?” John set down his utensils in order to hide the small shake of his hands. 

Miranda was observant. She looked across the way to James in order to get his permission before taking this to a point where things would be changed irrevocably. James swallowed before taking a sip of his wine, Miranda recognized this as no objection on his part. She turned to John, “There is no need to be afraid John.”

John looked at her, still not understanding. Sodomy was a crime. There was every reason to be afraid. 

Miranda let out a sympathetic sigh of understanding. She could read John plainly. She knew. “James and I are very open minded thinkers John, especially with regards to the different ways in which people love.”

John turned to Flint but didn’t hold his gaze for long, instead his eyes cast down to the table, blinking in thought. “I still don’t quite follow. Are you asking me to leave or—”

“Heavens no,” Miranda interrupted and she reached out to grab John’s shaking hand; it was cold to the touch despite the warmth in the house. 

Flint captured their attention when he picked up his chair, moved towards Silver, and placed it down on his left side. James sat in the chair sideways, his legs over the side as he faced Silver’s profile. 

John turned to face him, his hand sliding from Miranda’s.

“I don’t know how to start this,” James began, distracted by the bob of Silver’s Adam's apple.

“Start this?” Silver questioned, not following what was happening yet.

“James. You should call me James.”

“James?” 

“I’d like you to call me James.” Flint repeated, feeling the depth of his emotional repression. 

Silver smiled hopefully before he countered: “John.” 

It was as if the doubts of all three at the table dissipated. 

“John,” James repeated with an almost smile. 

“Oh for fucks sake!” Miranda expressed out of frustration, watching them make progress at such a slow pace was infuriating for her. 

James began to laugh and that’s when John knew it was acceptable for him to enjoy their amusement. 

“She’s smart, isn’t she?” he said to John. “She sees things others attempt to hide?”

John looked down and picked at the edge of his napkin before he gained the courage to look back into James’ eyes. “I don’t try to hide. I just…” he let out a huff of air. “I’m not hiding. I’ve just always been alone.”

“Well, we don’t want you to be alone anymore,” Miranda voiced from somewhere behind Silver’s shoulder.

“We?” 

James shrugged his shoulder. “Miranda is not my wife.”

“I gathered that much.” John said with light amusement.

James placed his left elbow on the table, hoping it would accept some of the burdened weight he felt. “I was friends with Miranda's husband.”

“Friends?” John teased.

Flint sent him a menacing glare which he attempted to soften when he saw Silver physically recoil slightly. Flint clenched his jaw. 

“What James is trying to say is that we have opened up our lives to new partners before for the sake of happiness.”

Silver turned to Miranda. He understood her meaning, but he needed to hear her say it.

“You are attracted to James, yes?”

Silver wasted no time in being honest. “Yes.”

Miranda smiled. “Your attraction, your…” she searched for the right word, “partnership, would be welcome in this household.”

“Oh.” Silver bit the inside of his cheek, not wanting James to see his smile. He would have been fine if Miranda saw it; it was plain to him now that Miranda understood more about the depths of his affections then he did himself, but he didn’t want James to see it just yet, he didn’t need James to know how quickly he was becoming the sole person in his thoughts. 

“Only if you want, of course,” James added, wanting to be sure this thing between them was real and could be given a voice.

John simply smiled. “I want it. I want to try?” he raised one shoulder in a shrug as if asking James the same question.

He replied, “I want it too.”

* * *

“Thank you for dinner Miranda.” John said as he stood near the screen door, trying to prolong his exit. “I haven't had a home cooked meal like this in over a decade.” John scoffed after the comment, his way of not making it seem like a momentous thing she had done for him.

It broke Miranda’s heart. John was quickly becoming her friend and she truly hoped he could build something with James because she was beginning to enjoy having him around. “It was my pleasure John.” She stepped forward and pulled him down into a hug, wrapping her arms around his neck and running them over his back in comfort.

John smiled into her neck, regretful when she pulled away. 

“I’ll give you two some privacy.”

“As if we don’t both know you’ll be snooping from the kitchen window.”

Miranda blushed at James’ comment. It had only been one meal, but even the hope of having John in their lives had already begun to lighten the dark cloud residing over James; he was joking with her and his soft personality was something she had been missing as his mind became darker these past few years.

“For your information I shall be collecting the dishes from the dining room.” She sent John a wink before taking her leave to the dining room. 

John felt a thrill trickle down his spine at the prospect of being alone with James; he still wasn’t used to calling him that, even in his mind-space. 

James gestured for them to exit onto the porch and Silver complied, opening the screen door and stepping out into the evening humidity. Silver turned to face Flint and was hit with the enormity of his deep feelings. Silver had been with both men and women before. He had even had what he considered to be deep feelings for a young man once, taken from him before his prime; but John had never felt such an emotional burden as he did when he looked into Flint’s eyes. It was genuinely terrifying. He still knew next to nothing about the man who stood before him, and yet, some inner part of him yearned for him. 

“I was sure I was coming here tonight and being told to leave.” Silver admitted, racking a nervous hand through his curls and messing them up. One lock fell in front of his face and Silver felt his breath pause as he watched James delicately reach out to play with it.

“I’m sorry you had to feel that way.” James whispered as he reluctantly tucked the ringlet behind John’s ear. 

John could feel the tangible meaning behind the small action.

“I’m not a very good communicator.” Flint admitted his hand dropping with the level of his gaze until all he could see were Silver’s boots. 

“I have been known to talk too much about all the wrong things.” Silver smirked playfully, but James wasn’t fooled. John lightly bit down on the inside of his cheek. “Why did you tell Miranda about the river?”

This had captured James’ attention who looked up, a certain rigidity to his posture. “I’m very open with Miranda. I love her in a way that transcends the usual sense of the term. I will tell her everything that she feels she is entitled to knowing.”

John took a step forward. “And if I wanted to share things with her? Would I be allowed?”

Flint pulled back, mirroring his uncertainty when Miranda had first engaged them in the discussion of John Silver. “Do you mean to say you are interested in women as well?”

“Yes I am, but I didn’t mean it like that.” Silver explained. “She’s maybe the only friend I think I’ve ever had?”

“She will welcome your honesty John. Although, I do fear what the two of you will likely gang up on me.” James actually chuckled softly, but the sound was deafened by the feel of John’s rough fingertips dancing across his wrist. He fingertips swirled lightly over the skin until they encircled his wrist. 

“I’ve been thinking about you since the first moment I saw you,” John admitted breathlessly, leaning into James’ personal space.

“Jesus Christ John when I found you at the river - I had come to tell you that I wished to acknowledge what I thought was between us, if I was understanding it right and … you mesmerize me.”

John felt Flint’s fingers lace within his own, urging him forward, his toe bumping into James', their hips scarcely brushing one another. “I thought you hated me. I thought I was getting hard at night thinking about a man who couldn’t stand my presence.”

“I couldn't stand it because it forced me to acknowledge things I have sealed away,” Flint practically snarled against John’s lips. 

“Is this more than lust James?” he whispered, bringing his free hand to the back of James neck, picturing them in an unmistakable embrace. “I feel like my mind and body are trying to consume me. I didn’t know I had the capacity to care for something more? Is that what I’m feeling inside my chest, this burning?”

James looked into his eyes sincerely, giving John’s hand a little squeeze. “It feels astronomically more than lust and I …”

“You’re afraid?” John concluded, seeing his mirror image reflected in James’ vulnerability. “Good, because I am too.”

John surged forward and placed an open mouthed kiss on James neck, sucking the skin just beneath the man’s ear. James groaned, feeling heat in his stomach and the slick path of John's tongue. “We can’t do this here John,” he begrudgingly whispered, moving his hands to John’s shoulders to carefully create a distance between them. “The farm cannot know.”

“I understand.” But John couldn’t prevent the tilt of his head in disappointment.

“This is new,” James placed a finger under John’s chin, feeling the light stubble as he encouraged John to look into his eyes, “it must be nurtured, and it isn’t fair to us to do that with an audience, with their judgments and opinions.”

“I don’t know if I want to feel like a secret.”

“Not a secret John, never.” His finger moved so that he was now cupping his face. “We’re not hiding, remember? Just … caution.”

“I want to kiss you James.”

James knew that he wanted it too. He leaned forward and placed a gentle whisper, an imprint of his lips on the corner of John's mouth. “Will you make it back to your quarters all right?”

John nodded. “Tell Miranda goodnight for me?” 

* * *

Miranda was sitting up in their bed waiting for him. Even after Thomas, they still shared a room. It was comfortable, not to be alone. To be held. To feel warmth. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t ask you first James, but with Walrus it seemed like—”

“Do not worry Miranda.” James sat down on the bed and began to take off his boots. “You were right.”

Miranda smiled. “I really am tremendously glad James.” But her voice cracked in that moment and she couldn't prevent the flood gate of tears she had been bottling up for god knows how long. She did that often, concealed her emotions so that she could be strong for others. 

James climbed onto the bed with surprising quickness for a man who had spent most of the day working. “Hush,” James comforted, he pulled her into his arms and cradled her head against his chest as he placed a firm hand in her hair. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

Miranda tried to wipe her eyes, feeling foolish. “I just couldn’t help thinking about Thomas.”

James tried not to let her feel the strain her words caused and the unbelievable sense of guilt that emerged.

“I haven’t seen you this light since Thomas. There was only the briefest hint of it today, but I have already noticed it. And I’ve missed the person you are when you are happy and when you are unashamed, and tonight I realized that I might finally get that man back.” She clung to him tightly and he held her a length of time until the tears subsided. 

“You know that Thomas is irreplaceable Miranda.”

“I know that James,” she turned in his embrace and brought a hand to his cheek. “I had the fortune of loving him and being loved by him too. But we are allowed to feel happiness again, you know Thomas would want that. For us to love without shame, without regret.”

“He would.” The corner of James’ lip curved into an almost smile. 

“This is a new chapter James, not a new beginning.”

James gave a kiss to her forehead. “I adore you.”

“And I love you too James.”


	4. Chapter 4

His mother had gotten very ill when he was nine years old. He remembered her telling him that soon she would go to the stars and be reunited with John’s brothers and sisters. John had never met any of these babies his mother talked about. He hadn’t understood how his mother could be healthy one day, with his brother in her belly, and so sick the next that she would be journeying to the stars with his little brother by her side. John hadn’t gotten to meet this baby either, his father had taken him away after he was born. His mother had pulled John into her bed, stained red with blood and soaked in sweat; she had run her fingers through his curls and told him that  _ “a baby needs tears; in order to breathe himself into existence he must cry to fill his lungs with air.” _

Because of this, John wasn’t afraid to cry. 

* * *

They had taken a little over a week to finalize Walrus’ training. They had to repeat all the lessons she learned at regular intervals in order to ensure she was completely trained. They had deemed her training complete after Flint had taken her for a ride in one of the riding paths. Flint had given her his seal of approval. 

John had relished the firm handshake that lingered, and the rough clap of Flint’s palm against his back as he congratulated him. They were ordinary touches, actions Flint had repeated with Billy and Gates in celebration, but John knew by the look that had passed between them it was more. 

While they were ensuring that Walrus was ready, they had simultaneously been given the green light to begin work with Urca. It was slow moving. The beast wouldn’t even let one of them approach let alone spend enough time in their presence to acclimate to humans. One time Billy had gotten a little too close for Urca’s comfort and the stallion had stood on his hind quarters, his front hooves beating in the air in defence. Billy had bolted out of the pen for fear of getting a hoof to the face. As a result, they had decided to move the stallion into his own paddock, a much smaller space so that he would be forced to meet humans with at least some proximity. Getting Urca into the paddock had been an entire half day venture as they blocked off his path, wielding rakes and shovels as intimidation in order to corner him into the adjoining paddock, closing the gate with haste behind him. 

In this span of a week, not much had progressed between James and John. James rarely worked with the horse trainers. Even Miranda was reluctant to spend time with them at this stage of the breaking process. So Silver found himself constantly looking for James, starved of his touch, and absolutely sexually frustrated. He had felt so guilty when he tugged himself off the other night thinking about Flint, when he knew he could be with the very object of his desires if he so chose. 

Feeling another sleepless night ahead of him, John got up and headed towards the stables.

* * *

“I was wondering when I’d finally see you here again.”

Silver was startled by the voice, causing him to jump. Mirroring his alarm, Aurelius’ snout bumped against his face.

“It’s okay boy,” Silver laughed at the jittery horse. “It’s just James.” 

The horse huffed a warm burst of air against James’ hand as he approached the two. 

“I come here almost every night hoping to see you.” James admitted, ironically speaking to the horse. “I’ve been down by the river, I check all your usual hiding spots on a regular basis, and yet I never seem to be in the same place at the same time as you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” John confessed. “It feels like I haven’t seen you in months.”

James leaned back on the heel of his right foot, imitating a casual stance as he suggested: “You know, you could come up to the house if you wanted, just knock on the door.”

John’s lips parted a fraction in thought. 

“You said you didn’t want to be a secret and Miranda has agreed that you are welcome in our home.”

John felt a flutter beneath his hand, and it wasn’t caused by the horse. 

“Unless, of course, you like sneaking around like this?”

John laughed. “Well I do like a bit of excitement.” 

James took a step forward but Aurelius began to whinny in protest. Both men laughed before James walked towards a hay bale and sat down. He looked to the space beside him, indicating that John should sit. 

When John sat down his pulse began to rise. James had placed his hand upon his thigh, lightly running up and down the denim. John was shocked to find James so tactile, given how closed off he usually was. 

“Tell me something I don’t know about you,” James whispered, his hand tantalizingly moving to the inside of John’s thigh. 

“That’s nearly everything isn’t it?” John joked, using humour as his defence mechanism. 

James’ hand stilled in that moment.

Afraid that he would pull the hand away John blurted out: “I touched myself with the towel you used to dry your cock, that day at the river. I buried my face in the damn thing and I’ve never come so hard in all my life.” 

The fingers at his thigh dug tightly into his skin and John knew that Flint was trying to fight off his own arousal at the declaration. “You’re a little shit you know that. I ought to bend you over this hay bale and ram into you for teasing me.”

John wanted that. John dreamed of that. He brought his hands to cup James' face leaning in as the hand on his thigh began to travel upwards.

The loud hinges of the stable door creaked. They pulled apart. Panting.

“Hello, didn’t know you were here.” Gates said cheerfully and wonderfully oblivious. It was only ten and some of the men were known to stay up at this hour despite having an early start every morning. Gates had a bottle of hard earned rum in his hands. “I came here to sneak a drink - Billy doesn't like it when I indulge so I usually do it here. You two care to join me?” he offered as he approached their hay bale. 

“Of course!” James said, using his friendly manner with Gates. “I was just discussing Urca with Mr. Silver here.”

“That horse is a right bloody bastard, he is.”

John smiled in agreement, accepting a swig from the bottle of rum in an effort to dismiss his disappointment. 

* * *

Urca was a challenge.

John was reluctant to admit it. He knew that he could train any horse. But sometimes, when he looked into the stallion's roaring black eyes, he had serious doubts. He or Billy could only stand in the paddock for ten minutes, let alone approach the horse, before he would attempt to charge. John began to wonder if this Spanish stallion wasn’t, in fact, part bull.

They had begun to first see some progress when John would click his tongue against the top of his mouth or whistle little tunes. The noise always made Urca’s ears perk up with interest; this was an excellent development because it meant Urca was willing to listen and more importantly he was beginning to associate a specific sound with John. Hopefully this could be used as a way to foster their connection. 

John would start each morning with a whistle and some apples - golden delicious were Urca’s favourite. John had taken to dropping them in the pen, each time trying to make the spot he dropped the apple closer to the horse without having Urca attempt to maul him. The bribery was working. John only prayed Urca would begin to trust him before he tired of the golden delicious apples. 

To everyone’s surprise, two days into John’s experiment he had advanced within a meter of Urca, the apple resting firmly in his fingers. Just as John had begun to kneel, ready to place the apple on the ground and retreat, Urca bridged the distance between them and slowly sniffed John's hand before sneakily taking the apple from his palm and trotting away. Both Gates and Billy had been too shocked to even comment on the small success.

The first time Urca had let John handle him had been an even more shocking affair. John had been standing outside the pen, resting against the fence, arms up, elbows against the highest rail, talking to Billy when Urca had lazily walked over and nudged his snout against John’s shoulder. John froze. Ironically, he was spooked by the horse. He heard the sharp intake of breath from Billy; the larger man was holding his breath, turning purple out of worry for startling the horse. John had turned around slowly and Urca nudged John’s face with demanding strength. John couldn’t help the little laugh that escaped as the horse knocked the breath out of him. John avoided Urca’s eyes; he did not want to challenge the horse. He raised his hand gingerly and Urca practically thrust his snout into John’s palm before allowing him to caress his coat freely.

“What are you? Some kind of horse whisperer?” Gates had teased.

Since then the crew were now able to enter Urca’s paddock without complaint. The stallion was now less skittish around people - although still leery. He had even begun taking treats from all of them and was even demonstrating a willingness to let Billy approach.

But the real test would come when John tried to put Urca in a bridle. They would always start simple, with a lunging cavesson or rope bridle (not suitable for riding or ground training, but light enough and comfortable enough to get the horse familiar with the idea before asking it to accept a leather bridle, let alone a bit). For the most part Silver’s attempts were proving useless. Urca would let him run his hands along his flanks and snout with firm pats, but the moment John brought up the lunging cavesson Urca would bolt. John’s second strategy to use sugar cube bribery was bearing much similar results and if they kept this up Urca was going to eat Miranda out of all the sugar stores. So instead, influenced by Urca’s greedy nature, John had decided to withhold all touches of affection and even apple treats; he wanted Urca to understand what he was missing if he continued to refuse John’s requests. 

It had worked. 

Within a day Urca had allowed John to put on the lunging cavesson, much to the horses chagrin. 

* * *

John had yet to come by the farmhouse. Flint had assured him that it was alright. He was welcome. But he was hesitant to make that step, to let people into his life that he could possibly lose. 

Miranda was in her garden. It was just before noon, the sun would soon be heating up the air. It was the perfect time to get some extra planting done.

“Would you like a hand?” he asked, noting the way Miranda's head popped up in surprise. 

She sent him a look then said, “It’s about time you showed up. He’s been quite cranky waiting, the man has absolutely no patience.”

John smiled, opening the fence to the little garden and bending down to help her plant the carrot seeds. He noticed the smudge of dirt on her nose and smiled fondly. “How have you been Miranda? You haven't really come by Urca’s pen; I thought maybe you were avoiding me?”

Miranda looked up. “You are a sweet boy John.”

John hadn’t felt like a boy since the day his father died. But Miranda did have a very maternal nature to her, it almost made him long for the thing he had so long ago lost. 

“I’m not avoiding you John, I’m avoiding Urca. Truthfully, I’m quite leery of a horse when it’s that wild - even James is, it’s why we were advertising the help.” She used her spade to toss a pile of soil over the seeds. “I was thrown from a horse when I was a girl and while I can ride them now, and enjoy it, I still have this hesitation when I have yet to trust the animal in question.”

John understood that. “That’s my job, to make you trust them,” he said with his cocky grin.

“And how is that going?” she countered sending him a knowing look, and for some reason John thought the subtext might be involving Flint.

“It’s very hard to find a moment alone with him,” John admitted, his eyes squinting against the sun as Miranda stood and wiped her dirty hands on the apron she was wearing. 

“He’s in the chicken coup right now - the roof has been leaking.” She glanced to her left where Silver knew the hen house was. “You could go help him?”

Silver stood and gave Miranda a confident kiss to the cheek before he hopped over the garden fence in search of Flint. 

* * *

Flint was standing on a small four step ladder, a hoard of perturbed hens squealing at his feet. Silver couldn’t help but laugh at the flushed face of frustration of Flint’s cheeks. 

“You’re upsetting the ladies!” Silver teased with a cock sure smile as he opened the metal latch of the pen and stepped inside before any of the girls could escape.

“It wouldn’t be the first time,” James responded, grateful for the much needed laugh reminding him not to take things so seriously - including his anger towards the flapping birds beneath him. 

“I can only imagine the disappointment of young ladies back in England when they found out you preferred cock to cunny.”

Flint nearly fell off the ladder. “Christ you're filthy!”

Silver gave him a gleaming grin, his eyes squinting as the sun drew shadows over his face; he had to look up to catch Flint’s gaze. “And you love it.”

Flint felt the ladder rock again, unsteady like his heart. He was alarmed by how good the word sounded: _love_. Even coming off Silver’s tongue in a playful tone struck a knife into Flint’s bones. “Make yourself useful,” he pointed towards a pile of measured and cut planks of wood, intent on avoiding what he was feeling, “hand me a plank.”

Silver swatted away some unnecessarily stupid hens as he bent down to pick up the plank and hand it up to Flint. He watched Flint take two nails from the pocket on his ass and hold one between his lips while he pulled the hammer from the other pocket and began to nail in the board. 

“Besides, there was only one English lady who found out I prefer cock, as you say, and she wasn’t nearly that disheartened. In fact, I think she is still rather fond of me.”

“Fair enough.” Silver conceded, enjoying their playful banter. With Flint in such a good mood Silver decided to test his luck as he handed up the last plank of wood. “Then why did you leave England?”

James didn’t waste a single beat in response: “Where were you born? Have you always lived in New Mexico yourself?”

Silver didn’t answer, as expected. Instead he watched James hammer in the board, a little too enthusiastically, causing the coup to shake slightly and some of the hens to ruffle their feathers in annoyance. 

Flint began to climb down the ladder, his lips pressed together in a light frown of predicted disappointment. He dumped the hammer and spare nails in the toolbox and looked as if he was going to strategically leave Silver behind, without saying another word.

John realized that this situation was one of his own making. He had pushed Flint to be honest and it was only fair if he were to open up in return. He had to remember that James didn’t want anything from him, except to know him. John raised his hands placatingly, asking Flint to wait a moment before he stormed off.

“I am no one, from nowhere, belonging to nothing.”

“Don’t you trust me?”

John sighed. He did. “When I was twelve years old I was a stable boy working on a farm right on the border of Mexico.” He noticed the moment Flint put down the tool box. “This land has always been my home, even when I have been without one in the concrete sense.” Silver trembled. “When I was working on this farm I knew a boy named Solomon Little.”

“Unusual name,” Flint remarked as he looked over his shoulder and made the second to last step on the ladder his chair. He listened intently to Silver tell his tale. 

“Many of us boys were without parents, working underage to survive and there was a pecking order. Those higher up got the nice jobs: grooming horses, tacking up horses, leading the horses to pasture; those at the bottom were shit shovelers, stall muckers, and so forth.” Silver noticed James' expression soften as he became more animated in his storytelling. “Well Solomon Little, by an unhappy coincidence, happened to be very small for his age. Naturally, when he first arrived at the farm he was picked on by the other boys, even though he kept mostly to himself.” Silver had to sidestep slightly, noting an underfoot hen as, for some reason, he began pacing like a nervous stage actor while regaling his tale. “But every day at lunch, in the stable boys hall, Solomon Little would stand on one of the tables and make an address about all the goings on, the gossip, he had observed. At first the boys had beat him, punched him, spat on him, but soon … soon the boys began to listen.” Silver walked forward, leaning down he placed his hands on Flint’s large thighs before continuing with a softer tone. “What Solomon knew was that it was not about getting the other boys to like him, but about reminding them why they disliked each other.” 

“He sounds like a clever boy,” Flint playfully tapped the brim of John’s hat, understanding the subtext but not wanting to overwhelm John.

John smiled wistfully and stood. He looked towards the mountains of orange rock in the distance before he spoke again. “His father taught him that you need to make yourself valuable to others if you want to survive.” John flinched when he felt a hand take his own. 

James pulled John’s hand toward his spread legs, cradling the appendage within both his hands. “You are valuable John.”

John pulled away from the contact, James' words bringing him too close to reality - this was supposed to be a story about another boy, this wasn't supposed to be John’s life. He looked at James as the other man stood from the ladder, regret visible in his expression. John cleared his throat, deciding not to be a coward for one goddamn minute. “His mother used to tell him stories about the stars. How each one represented a person, a journey. They used to look at the stars together.”

There was so much longing in John’s voice that James' heart ached for him. It didn’t matter that it had been told in the form of a story. There is truth in fiction. The loss, the lessons, they were the truth; they were a fundamental part of who John was. They both knew it wasn’t a story and they both knew that it was the truest thing John had ever shared.

James smiled, picking up the toolbox with one hand and offering the other to Silver. “Come on, let’s get some lemonade,” he said as they exited the chicken coup hand-in-hand. 

* * *

Urca did not appreciate having blankets and scraps of fabric tickled against his skin and waved in front of his face. This was a vital step in desensitization training. A horse needed to be able to accept the unexpected, to have a calm, relatively predictable reaction to it. No one wanted to ride a horse who threw you the moment a branch accidentally scraped against it’s leg. Unfortunately, Urca was still leery of people, as is, and he would often pull against his lead the moment Bully and his blanket came too close. 

They had faced a minor setback when Billy tickled fabric straps, mimicking stirrups and saddles leathers, against Urca’s belly. The horse had kicked his hind legs and pulled against the lead so hard the leather had snapped from the pole, leaving Urca free to gallop in a circle of panic as Billy and John got the hell out of there. 

“Nothing you can do about it lads.” Gates had said. “Best to put the fabrics on hold for now but to keep up with the visits, we need him to know he can trust us to listen to him as well.”

* * *

Feeling dejected and with not much to do that afternoon, Silver found himself walking up to the farmhouse porch. 

“Room for one more?” Silver asked, putting one foot on the second step of the stairs, his knee bent as he leaned his forearm against his thigh. 

Miranda smiled at him from beneath the shade. “Of course.”

John noted with amusement that Flint absolutely refused to use his rocking chair for the intended purpose. There was a third chair, the folding kind that he had sometimes seen Gates sit in. John unfolded the chair and took a seat with a grateful sigh.

“If I put my feet up would you rub them for me?” Silver directed with a pout towards Flint.

“Cheeky bastard,” James retorted, brushing away John’s boots as he raised them to hover over Flint’s thighs.

Miranda laughed.

“At least someone appreciates my sense of humour.” He took his hat off and nodded towards his friend.

“Shall I fetch you a glass?” she indicated towards the orange juice.

“That would be lovely.”

“No sit,” James placed a gentle hand on Miranda’s knee. “I shall get it.”

John smiled as he left, running a hand through his sweaty and wind knotted curls. He let his hat rest atop his knee. 

“Good to see you here again John. Maybe next time you’ll venture into the house?” She raised a brow that made John snort fondly. Continuing more boldly Miranda stated: “I’ve asked James if he’s finally managed to kiss you and his only response has been a snarl of annoyance. Now that could mean one of three things with James.”

Silver leaned back in his chair, planning on taking mental notes to catalogue later in case he himself needed to translate one of James’ grunts. 

“One,” Miranda proceeded, “he is just naturally annoyed with my probing, a likely possibility but can only be used in response once or twice before he’ll finally voice his frustration with me. Two, he has kissed you and for some reason he is reluctant to share - given that he told me immediately of the incident at the river this too is an unlikely possibility. Which brings me to option three, you haven’t kissed yet and he’s embarrassed that it hasn't happened, which has likely created anxious doubts in his mind.”

John brought a hand to scratch at his stubble. It was taking Flint an awfully long time to fetch that glass. That was when he noticed him, framed by the kitchen window, starting at Silver and waiting for his answer.

“So my friend,” Miranda brought her own glass to her lips - John’s tongue darted out in jealousy, feeling parched, “will you be more forthwith in your answer?”

John scratched his head. His eyes went from Miranda's to James'. “We haven't kissed yet,  _ yet _ ,” he emphasized. “It will come. Why force it when we are still nurturing it?”

“Who knew you were so sentimental?” Miranda teased as James pushed open the squealing screen door and filled the empty glass with juice before handing it to John. He looked at him poignantly as their fingers touched. 

All three of them knew he had been listening, but if that was how they needed to communicate their worries, then so bit it. John even had half a mind to wonder if Miranda had not orchestrated the whole thing herself.

John took a long sip of his drink. “I’ve been meaning to ask Miranda, if you fell off a horse as a girl, why a horse ranch?” his hands gestured up into the air around him, indicating the space the ranch occupied, questioning how it came to exist. 

“It was James' idea. He and Thomas used to dream of escaping London to a little farm. Both Thomas and myself were raised upper class so we were quite familiar with horses - despite my misadventures as a young girl. You’ve always been quite familiar with animals James?”

“My grandfather retired from the navy and started a farm.”

“His grandfather raised him after his father’s death,” Miranda supplied some context.

“But I joined the navy when I was sixteen - never got the chance to see him again before he died.”

In Silver typical fashion, he used humour as a defence mechanism to avoid the responsibility of sharing equally vulnerable and damaging information from his past. “The navy,” he had said with an infectious smile, “that’s why you're such a good swimmer?”

Miranda’s mouth parted with joy at the clever quip. This easy comradery had been something she had found wanting in her life since Thomas’ death. And she was immeasurably enjoying watching the little pink tint that overcame Flint’s ears. 

* * *

After that John had been coming up to the farmhouse, between breaks in Urca’s training, with increasing frequency. Sometimes he would sit and enjoy both their company, other times he and Flint would go for walks or groom Aurelius together.

Tonight, Miranda was cooking dinner and Flint suggested they go for a quick walk together. The sun was still incredibly hot, James could feel the sweat on his palm, but it didn’t stop him from reaching out and taking John’s hand. They had been holding hands a lot recently. Silver had surprisingly large hands for a man his size, with thick fingers. Flint thought about that a lot. 

They were walking around the edge of the property, near the perimeter fence, behind the farmhouse. Most of the on-ranch staff were sitting down to their evening meal. This was the perfect time of day for privacy. 

James admired the dimples at the corner of John’s mouth as the young man looked back at him with a smile. He was relatively, and uncharacteristically, silent. James stopped. “Is something wrong?” 

With blunt honesty Silver responded: “I’m beginning to fear that breaking Urca will be more challenging than I anticipated.” 

James let out a huff of tension. “Is that all?” he said as he playfully ran a hand through John's hair, who pouted prettily at the touch.  “I was worried you were so quiet because of us.”

Silver’s eyes went comically wide. “No,  _ us _ is good. It’s just …” 

James felt the earth spin as John let go of his hand and rested against the fence. 

“If I can’t break Urca…” he sighed, afraid that voicing his fears would give them life. “If I can’t do what Miranda hired me for, then there is no reason for you to keep me here.” 

James had to physically take John by his shoulders, pull him away from the fence and get him to meet his eyes. “There is every reason for us to keep you here John.” James brought his right palm up to Silver’s chest, placing it over his pacing heart. “You already have a place here John,” he pushed his palm into the firm chest, hoping John would understand what he could not yet say. “You never have to leave—” James paused, a crushing thought occurring to him, “unless you choose to.”

“I don’t want to go anywhere.” John responded, shocked by his own certainty.  Overcome by the emotions of finding a permanent home John reached out to cup Flint’s face - his thumbs digging in firmly to his cheeks before rushing forwards and sealing his lips over Flint’s.

James would probably deny the needy sigh of grateful surprise that escaped his lips, but he would not deny the way he clutched at John’s waist and slotted John’s stomach closer to his hip. Nor could he deny the rush of blood and euphoria. Miranda was right; John was his happiness.

James tucked his tongue into John’s mouth, encouraging him to open the kiss. He felt the tips of John’s fingers scratch at the edge of his hairline, pulling for more, desperate to bring them closer. James slanted his mouth, bringing his dominant hand up to John’s throat and angling his mouth, guiding his tongue. He loved the way John experimentally nipped at his lips as if he was playing. When they parted between kisses John was clearly breathless but he kept seeking out more, greedy for the taste. James had to finally pull him off with a tug to his curls, his own lungs aching. He felt his chest warm at the sight of the smile plastered on Silver’s face. 

“I think that was the nicest kiss I’ve ever had.” John said as he slid his hands down James’ chest.

“God, you are young!” James teased with a fond grin.

“No asshole!” John lightly pushed against the embrace but James held him firmly. “I just meant, because it was you…”

In the moments John wasn’t trying to be confident he was actually at his most endearing.

James pulled him forward for one more wet kiss. “Come on,” he slipped his hand back into John’s, “Miranda’s probably waiting for us.”

As they walked towards the farmhouse, James didn’t give a fuck who saw them holding hands. 

* * *

“Congratulations!” Miranda surprised John, placing a loving kiss on his cheek. 

John blushed; they were right in front of Billy and Gates - both of whom exchanged a shrug before flapping the blankets strategically at Urca. 

“I hear James thoroughly impressed you.”

“Oh shut-up,” John begged, the comeback lacking originality but he was too mortified to acknowledge this. 

“I’m sure you’ll think of a way to get him back somehow.”

John sent a glance of intrigue her way. “What would you have in mind?”

Miranda smirked before bracing her hand on John’s shoulder and leaned forward to place a conspiratorial whisper in his ear.

Their laughter did not escape Billy and Gates’ notice. 

* * *

“Tell me about the first time you rode a horse.” James could see that John was slightly confused by the question - not by the contents of what he was asking, but by the very asking in itself. He and John sat outside stable number one sanitizing bits with a natural mixture of vinegar and water. “And not a story, tell me about the first time John rode a horse.” 

He noticed the way Silver exhaled.

“My given name is not John.” He dropped the bit he had finished cleaning into the bucket, landing with a metal clank.

Flint sat silently, focusing on cleaning his piece of metal. He expected Silver to continue but he didn’t want to ask for more - he knew that John would feel like he was prying, and judging by John’s next answer that was exactly what he was thinking. 

“You don’t need to know my given name, you will divine no meaning from it. I am John to you and that is what matters.” 

Pleased that John had offered him a personal anecdote and that he wasn’t all together rejected, James repeated: “So, will you tell me about the first time  _ you _ ,” he emphasized, “rode a horse?”

John honestly had to consider this for a moment, setting down his cloth in thought. When the memory came to him he picked up the next bit and began to clean it. “I must have been a few months old.”

“You’re joking?” Flint questioned because truly John wasn’t being honest at this moment. 

“I mean, I don’t remember it myself, but my mother used to always tell me how I sat atop my father’s knee, enjoying the bouncing of the horse.”

“I think you could have told me you were born on horseback and I would have believed you.” James relished the grin John gave him as he tossed another bit into the ‘clean’ bucket. 

“The first time I remember riding a horse on my own was when I was seven; she was a gentle old mare named Esp í ritu Viviente.”

“Living Spirit?” James questioned, his Spanish was better in literary text than speaking, especially with a difficult to place accent like Silver’s. 

“My mother was fond of names like that. Esp í ritu Viviente was the first horse my father said could be mine - in name and responsibility only. I was to groom her daily, feed her, clean her stall. She was so spoiled.” The clink of metal in the bucket echoed as John cleaned another one. “She was a small horse, that’s probably why my mother was comfortable with me riding her alone. I remember thinking that she and I had the power to go anywhere together.” Another clink of metal. “Then again, I also imagined it felt like she and I could go forty miles an hour when in reality I never managed more than a trot till I turned eight.” 

James let out a carefree chuckle. “Did you always have the curls?” he asked, seemingly off topic as he had to pull his hand back in mid air, controlling his impulse to run his fingers through the curls. That kind of affection was absolutely unacceptable in their public position. 

“I did.”

“I can just see you now, a big mop of curls bouncing as you and Esp í ritu Viviente ride into the sunset.”

John let out a smile at the memory that didn’t exist. 

Another clink of metal in the bucket. 

“She died only a few months later. I sometimes think that was why my father picked her for me. I’m sure there was a lesson about care and loss somewhere in there, but I mostly just felt heartbroken and hatred.”

A clink in the bucket. 

“I’m sorry,” and James truly meant it. “Loss is never easy.” He was thinking about the war. He was thinking about Thomas. 

“What about you?” John had asked about eight bits later. “When was the first time you rode a horse?”

“I was twelve,” James dipped his cloth in the cleaning mixture and ran it over the bit in his hand. “I liked the feeling of height and power I got atop a horse. Even though they can be fierce, at heart they are very gentle creatures.”

John nodded in agreement.

“My grandfather taught me. He taught me how to tack, groom, ride, even break horses.”

“You know how to train horses?” Silver said with an infusion of excitement and surprise.

James nodded. “He also taught me how to milk cows, shear sheep, farm, cook; he taught me how to live with integrity, honesty, seek knowledge. He taught me how to be a man.”

A clink of metal dropped into the bucket.

“I’ve always had this uncontrollable rage within me. When I joined the navy they taught me discipline, order, comradery, countless seafaring skills. When I returned from my first leave it felt foreign to be on horseback rather than the deck of a ship.”

“Your grandfather sounds like a strong influence.”

“Whether you choose to believe it or not, so does your father.”

Another clink of metal. 

* * *

John prided himself on his patience - it was one of the few positive qualities he considered he possessed. But Urca was pulling at the last tether or his already frayed string.

With each session Urce succeeded to get more flighty and John feared that soon they would be back to where they started with apple bribery. John entered Urca’s paddock with the lunging cavesson in hand and a whistle on his lips, ready to break ground. Urca approached John, filling in his last two steps like they usually did.

“There’s a little treasure galleon,” John said half as a pet name, and half as a reminder to himself why breaking this horse was so important. He let Urca adjust to sharing his space before bringing up a hand to let the beast know the lunging cavesson was coming. John placed the soft fabric over Urca’s snout and pulled it up over his ears. He reached under the horse's chin to adjust the straps when the sound of a metal bucket being accidentally knocked over by Billy’s Sasquatch sized foot spooked the horse. Urca began to whinny, dancing on his hooves and struggling against the canvas bridle. John didn’t have much time to get away, he raised his forearm in defence just as Urca began nipping. John tried not to let out a scream as the horse's teeth came into contact with his flesh. He bolted quickly, kicking up dirt as he went, blood trailing down his arm and over his hands. 

“Fuck!” John finally exclaimed when everyone was out of the paddock and all the gates were safely closed behind them. This is why desensitization training was so vital.

John realized they had gained a small crowd of onlookers, one of which was Flint - his hair on fire in the morning sky and his face an unreadable expression of horror. 

“Come on.”

John felt Flint’s hand at the corner of his good elbow before he recognized that Flint was guiding him somewhere. They reached the farmhouse, John distracted by the droplets of blood he was leaving to stain Miranda’s floor. 

“Christ, what happened?” Miranda asked as she met them in the doorway of the kitchen.

“Urca nipped at him,” James said as he cleared off the butcher block on the counter.

Miranda disappeared somewhere into the depths of the house while John hopped up onto the countertop.

“It’s not that bad really.”

Miranda chided him as she returned with a kit of medical supplies. She took out some rubbing alcohol and tipped the bottle onto a cloth before dabbing it against the wound. John hissed at the first sting, but quickly became used to it.

“Hand me that wash cloth,” Miranda said to James who rinsed it before handing it to her. She noticed that his hands were shaking. She ran the cloth over Silver’s arm, cleaning off all the blood, sweat, and dirt efficiently before returning to dabbing the wound with the disinfectant. “He got you fairly well.”

“I know.” John said with defeat, as if he had just lost a game.

“On the bright side, it’s not deep and you don't need any stitches. Plus, you’ve earned yourself the afternoon off.” 

The corner of John’s mouth quirked up, causing a ripple of smile lines to etch onto his face. 

“James, will you hold this gauze over the wound? Try to stop the bleeding while I go in search of the medical tape.”

James nodded, moving to stand between John’s legs which dangled against the cupboard doors. James applied pressure to the gauze, watching the red bleed into the white. James pulled back the gauze to examine the bite out of curiosity; John winced as the hairs on his forearm were pulled with the sticky blood. The impression of teeth was obvious. 

“It’s going to scar,” James concluded remorsefully. For a man who spent his life in physical labour, from what James had seen, John’s body had been relatively unscathed.

“Like this one?” John had unconsciously lifted his uninjured hand up to run along the little silver line on James' right cheek. His thumb lingered, pride blooming when James leaned into the touch and gripped the tops of his thighs. 

“Like this one,” James echoed, feeling his lust build.

John wrapped his legs around James' middle, his ankles crossing at the underside of Flint’s ass.

“How did you—”

“In the Royal Navy, during the war, we helped guide convoys. I got very lucky once. A U-boat hit one of the allied battleships and the shrapnel was ricocheted to our ship; it cut my cheek. We managed to sink the submarine with our depth charges and make our escape.” James explained before turning his face to kiss John’s palm, not giving him time to comment on the war. “When I heard Gates’ screaming I had feared much worse John.”

“There’s no need to worry about me; I’ve always been good at surviving.” John leaned closer, resting his sweaty forehead against James' (he must have lost his hat during his dance with Urca). He felt James pull him to the edge of the counter so their bodies could be as close as possible. “Kiss it better?” John joked and Flint pulled his lips into a kiss filled with laughter and relief.

Miranda stood in the doorway looking on with a sense of contented sadness in her heart. She set the medical tape on the counter, not wanting to disturb this moment. James could handle things from here. 

* * *

John hadn’t taken the afternoon off. Instead he had gone right back to work. He realized quickly, and with much regret, that he might not be able to break Urca on his own; and although he had the help of Billy and Gates, he needed someone who he was of one mind with and that’s when the missing piece occurred to him. 

Miranda and James were on their porch as expected, taking in an evening cup of tea - John had already eaten with the staff. 

“Feeling better John?” Miranda inquired and she was not too offended when John chose to ignore her completely. 

He stopped in front of the porch, not intent on joining them, merely delivering a message. “I’ve come to realize something,” he started, “and that is, that I will need help. Urca is one hell of a horse and I need a partner who knows my thoughts just as quickly as I do; I need a partner whose interests are aligned with my own, in all ways; I need your help to break Urca James.”

“Me?” James responded in something surpassing shock. The suggestion was ludicrous. “John, I haven't broken a horse since I was fifteen. I’ve barely done any ground training since we purchased the ranch, even in the early years.”

“But you know how to do it?”

“Yes in principle.” James said with a hint of sarcasm. 

“Then I am asking, will you be a partner to me in this James?”

James looked to Miranda. They were taken aback by the sincerity in Silver’s speech. James had no choice but to respond: “Yes.”

They were going to break L’urca de Lima and they were going to do it together. 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is some of the fluffiest writing I have ever done. Also there might finally be some smut. Happy Reading Everybody!

James was sore. His body hadn’t ached this much in years. He didn’t know how John did it every day. But his discomfort was worth the progress they had made. For some reason, when Flint and Silver were of the same mind, when they moved towards Urca in tandem, the horse seemed to bow to their will. 

Urca had let Flint handle him in only a few hours of proximity. And anytime Urca seemed like he was going to bolt due to his flighty attitude, Flint would just give him this menacing snarl as if to remind the horse who was in charge. The change in Urca was felt by nearly all, for even Billy and Gates were accepted by the horse without question. 

It was almost as if something had clicked for Urca. The horse realized he had injured John, and yet John returned with a whistle, a smile, an apple, and a formidable partner. There was a type of trust being established between the creatures. As a result, they were able to move forward, with rapid speed, in regards to Urca’s sensitivity training. Ironically, it was as if the bucket incident had abolished the anxiety of the unknown for Urca. The horse wasn’t bothered by the blankets or the straps of leather against his skin. That being said, they had approached the sound portion of the training with caution. But anytime the horse got startled, he allowed John’s little whistles to calm him back down. Urca was beginning to trust and listen. 

Billy, being the well intended idiot that he was, even intentionally knocked over a metal bucket one day. Everyone, but especially James, was relieved when the stallion turned his head with interest, but no fear. 

“You’re such an old man,” Silver pestered as Flint complained about his feet hurting. They were returning the equipment to the stable for the evening. 

“Hardly. I’m just used to hearing you complain. I thought we might change things up a little.”

John laughed as James held the door open for him. Inside there was a stable boy, grooming a horse, he looked at Flint with fear and disbelief that Silver would have reason to laugh at something the Rancher said. John noted this, and was quite frankly even more amused as he remembered the mythical fear he once held for the man beside him, the man he affectionately referred to as  _ partner _ in his head. 

John tossed the blankets into one of the trunks, Flint put in the scraps of fabric after him. Next he walked towards one of the walls and hung up the fabric bridle on the correctly labelled hook. Everything was well organized on his ranch, for worker ease and animal comfort.

Flint had only been working with them for a few days now, but everyone on Hamilton Ranch had observed his more vested interest. Usually Flint busied himself with individual tasks and general upkeep of the ranch. Many liked to see him become more involved: especially Gates. Gates was around in those early years. Gates had broken quite a few horses with Flint. He enjoyed working with him again. And Billy, he was just doing his absolute best to impress the Rancher. 

“I’m going to eat with the men tonight.” John whispered as they left the stables. “Give Miranda my love.” 

“Of course,” James said even though he hated this part. Silver had every right to go and eat with the men, with the crew of workers he had bonded with. But it didn’t stop James from wanting him at their table, in their home, in his bed. James knew if it was upsetting him he just needed to tell Silver. But bearing your soul is never easy. Especially when it’s at risk of being broken. 

* * *

“If you want him to eat dinner with us so fiercely, why don’t you just invite him James?” Miranda had said over a meal of tuna casserole. 

“I feel like it should be his choice who he spends time with.”

Miranda resisted the urge to roll her eyes. “He would still be able to make his own choice James.”

“But I want him… I want him to be the one who…”

“Did you ever consider that he fears he doesn’t belong?”

“We have told him he is welcome countless times—” 

“He hasn’t been welcomed into anything since he was a child James,” Miranda interrupted, “even then, from what I gather, John has had a complicated relationship with those in his life who are given the moniker of family.”

James pushed his food around the plate. “It wasn’t this difficult with Thomas.”

Miranda snorted. “That’s because I practically handed him to you.” The smile she received from James was not one of happiness. She continued with a more serious tone: “Thomas was always very comfortable with his proclivities. I am not saying that John isn’t but I am saying he is less comfortable being himself, less comfortable having trusting relationships, having people who care and caring for them in return.”

“Thomas was always the talker. He always … I just don’t know how to do this without him.”

* * *

John clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and was satisfied when Urca walked towards him. 

“Now you aren’t going to give me any trouble with this big guy!” Silver patted the horse, the white bandage on his arm standing out in the light from the sun. John held up the leather bridle and bit. He placed it in front of Urca’s mouth, allowing the animal to sniff the material before he made the next step. With confidence, John reached under Urca’s chin, holding his snout firmly while aligning the bit up with Urca’s mouth. He held the bit there, inching it forwards slightly, encouraging the horse to open his mouth. When Urca was in, John expertly pulled the bridle until the bit was resting comfortably in Urca’s mouth. The horse seemed to object at first, realizing it was not a tasty snack, but John’s little whistles were enough to calm the horse down so that he could lift the rest of the bridle over Urca’s ears. He adjusted the straps and then hooked the lead tether on. “I’m very proud of you young man,” John patted the horse in reward. The bridle would only stay on for a few minutes before they would take it off, give Urca a treat, and then repeat the process countless times throughout the day. 

* * *

Urca loved to be washed down, most horses did after a long run or day in the hot sun. But Urca would shove his face into the stray buckets of water, knock them over and dance around in the puddles. John had never seen a horse swim; but if any horse could do it, based on love of water alone, it was Urca. Urca could probably float if the damned stubborn stallion put his mind to it!

As a result, wiping down Urca was always a wet affair - you were guaranteed to be splashed. John didn’t mind because after a hot day, he too loved the cool water on his skin. 

“Want some help with that?” Flint offered. John tossed him a sponge. 

Together they cleaned the stallion off, scrubbing his chest, belly, flanks. They were extra cautious of his legs in case he should kick. 

“Better stand back.” John warned as he grabbed the hose. “This is his favourite part.” The hose hissed to life as he turned the tap on, water filling the elongated rubber tube. Urca began to toss his head back in pleasure, whinnying as the water pelted against his coat. Feeling cheeky, John put his thumb over the mouth of the hose, letting the water come out in a softer fan pattern. He aimed the water right towards James who was wearing a loose white cotton long sleeve shirt - he had become more sun conscious recently. 

“What are you—” but Flint ran out of time to protest as the refreshing water assaulted his chest. Immediately ready for retribution, James dunked his sponge in the bucket of water, its pores naturally soaking up the liquid. James ran towards Silver who held the hose up in defence. Blinking his eyes through the water James knocked off John’s hat and wrung the sponge out over his curls. 

John shook them out like a wet dog, bullets of water flying in every direction. 

Feeling neglected, Urca bumped James' shoulder. James laughed as he stole the hose from John - who was complaining unnecessarily - and resumed to pamper the beast. 

James couldn’t remember the last time he had allowed himself to indulge in a simple moment of joy. 

* * *

Miranda’s hands had gone pruney, it was her least favourite part about laundry. Well truthfully, she didn’t enjoy any aspect of laundry - except having clean clothes. But scrubbing clothes against the washboard was certainly the worst. Her knuckles would ache and sometimes she couldn’t feel her fingertips for hours afterwards. James helped when he could, bit it was one task he tried to avoid. He enjoyed dusting, doing dishes, changing bed linens, and cooking; but laundry was not well liked in this household. 

So when Silver offered his help one day she was more than relieved. At first she worried he might be more hindrance than help, but he got right to work on the washboard, doing full sheets without complaint. 

“I used to do this for my mother when she was bed ridden. My father would get cross if the washing wasn’t done and we had no one else in the household to help her.” John explained as he ran the last of James shirts along the metal grooves. He wrung it out and handed it to Miranda who took some clips and hung it on the line. There was still a pile of wet clothes that needed to go up and John stood to join her in the task. “My father was always concerned about appearances - with waiting to fit in.”

Miranda understood the subtext behind Silver’s words, given what she had previously come to understand regarding the status of his breeding. “Did your father know?” Miranda questioned; “About your interest in men?” 

“God no!” John helped Miranda to pin up a particularly large white bed sheet. “He died before I even knew.”

“And when did you know?”

“When I was sixteen I realized that I looked at men and women the same way; I could see all the beautiful things in both of them.” John shrugged his shoulders at this fact about himself that he had clearly embraced years ago. “I didn’t know that was unusual at the time, until one of the older men on the ranch told me:  _ ‘You should be careful with the way you look at the other men, especially the way you looked at Gabriel.’ _ I didn’t understand. I told him that I thought Gabriel had a nice smile because it made his face light up. It was an innocent enough sentiment, to be sure, but that evening the same man pushed me against a wall in an empty cabin and asked me what else I liked about Gabriel. I began cataloguing his thighs, his chest, the beauty mole on his shoulder before I realized I was hard and this stranger had his hand on my cock as he rutted against me and breathed into my neck. I don’t even remember if I came or not.” John looked down towards the pile of soggy laundry. 

Miranda was mildly shocked to realize that John had told her a truth of his past with no pretense, and no lie. “I hope you know that that man shouldn’t have done that to you.” She picked up another sheet. “You were just a child.”

“I know,” John nodded as he took the other end of the sheet for Miranda. “And I was confused as all hell afterwards. But the next morning when I saw Gabriel, do you know what happened?”

“What?” Miranda grinned, sensing there was a positive lesson here.

“He still made me smile. And that's when I knew that I liked men in that way.”

Miranda felt joy bloom in her chest at the peaceful little smile John was giving her. “You put a very lovely meaning into that account John. Thank you for sharing.”

John picked up the last shirt. “And so, I had my first hand job before I even kissed a girl!”

Miranda laughed as intended.

John continued with an animated and quite lewd expression on his face: “Her name was Maria Elaine and let me tell you the curves on that dark haired goddess!”

Miranda shook her head affectionately as John illustrated the outline of a voluptuous woman in mid air. 

“Come on lover boy,” she quipped as she picked up the empty basket, “we finished with the laundry, now we deserve a break.”

“A break?” Silver protested, “but we didn’t even get to the fun part yet!”

“The fun part?” Miranda rested the basket on her hip.

“My mother and I used to play tag between the sheets.”

Miranda tilted her head in consideration before dropping the basket to the ground and yelling out: “You’re it!”

John chased after her, pleased when she got the idea and hid behind the sheets. Sneaking up on her shadowed form John pushed aside the sheet with a surprising yell. Miranda squealed joyfully before ducking around the corner of the sheet, and again when John mirrored her action. He chased her through the clothes, wet cloth occasionally catching his face as he weaved in and out. When he finally rounded in on her he wrapped his arms around her waist and they tumbled to the grass in a fit of laughter. 

“That was excellent fun!” Miranda gasped, nearly out of breath. 

“That was the sole reason I liked helping with laundry.” John said as he regarded Miranda and softly pulled some grass from her hair. 

“Perhaps I shall enjoy laundry more if that continues to be the reward.”

“Sounds like a plan,” John said as he stood, offering a hand to Miranda as he pulled her to her feet. 

She hadn’t felt this happy in ages. 

* * *

Urca was all tacked-up with his preferred bridle as John led him out of the paddock and into the lunging pen. They had been bringing the stallion into the pen for the last few days so that he would be comfortable in the space when they began ground training.

When they got into the pen Flint handed him the lunging whip. They had also gotten Urca used to the feel of the whip during sensitivity training. John pulled onto the lead rope, making sure it was secure before flicking the end of the whip at Urca’s hind quarters. Urca moved forward about eight steps before he stopped. John tried a command first, asking the stallion to walk on. When Urca didn’t budge John was forced to use the whip again. Urca walked about twelve passes this time before stopping and the whole process was repeated until he finally managed to circle the pen without stopping. It was a slow start, but it had been better than John expected. They repeated the work in shifts throughout the rest of the day and hoped that tomorrow would prove more effective. 

* * *

John wasn’t one for manual labour. He had spent the majority of his life doing it, but now he just preferred to work with the horses. But when Flint asked him to help fix the fence in paddock number three John couldn’t refuse; partly because Flint was still his boss, but mostly because John didn’t think he could ever refuse Flint in any capacity. But that wasn’t going to stop him from complaining every step of the way.

“It’s too heavy, why can't you hold the plank while I nail it in?”

“Because you nearly nailed your thumb to the post the last time I gave you the hammer.”

John began to pout.

“Don’t you dare!” James held up the hammer, horizontally, in warning. “You know your lips are entirely too gorgeous when you pout,” he brought his thumb up to pull down on John’s bottom lip, “and you know that I can’t kiss you out in the open.”

“Then maybe you should let me have a go with the hammer again?”

James rolled his eyes and gave in. He knew when to pick his battles. He handed John the hammer and they moved to switch places, he allowed his hand to touch the small of John’s back before sliding over his ass.

“Did you just strategically grab my ass?” John asked with a flirty grin as he bent towards the portion of the broken fence rail.

“I might have.”

“You are a handsy little devil James Flint.”

“And you have a great ass.”

“I know,” John said with a cheeky grin as he began recklessly hammering in the nail. 

James winced with each blunt echo, his premonitions proven accurate when John managed to hammer his own thumb a few minutes later. But everything was made alright when James brought the bruised digit up to his lips for a kiss. 

* * *

The next day, Urca could make it around the lunging pen without stopping for an entire fifteen minute session. It had taken most of the morning to achieve this small victory, but it meant that Urca was learning and it meant that he could be trained.

Now that they had gotten Urca over the first hurdle in ground training James realized that his presence wasn’t necessary. But John had ensured him that he was wanted in the lunging pen whenever he could spare the time. John understood that he was busy with other areas of the ranch, but having James nearby improved his concentration. 

Thus, to Gates utter enjoyment, it was Flint who brought them their afternoon drinks rather than Miranda. Flint handed out drinks before placing the tray on an upturned barrel. They chatted in a convivial manner as they drank their peach juice. 

“Planning on going into the hospitality business now that you’ve mastered ranching?” Gates had teased when he finished the drink and James took the glass for him. 

Flint had simply told him to fuck off and take a break with Billy, he and John would watch Urca. He knew that Gates and Billy were attempting to fix one of the old tractors out back in their spare time. Gates had been acquaintances with Billy's father back in London and when Billy had gotten into some trouble, Gates had begged Flint to bring him over. He promised that Billy would be his responsibility. Gates had easily kept his promise. 

“Here,” James pulled out a few stolen sugar cubes from the inside of his pocket.

“Is this a trap?” John was earnest. “Miranda told me we were cut off,” his _ we _ referring to Urca and himself.

“You are. Don’t tell her or she’ll have my balls for this.”

John physically shivered, he believed Miranda capable of castration if she put her mind to it. Regardless, he set down his empty glass on the tray and took the cubes and gave them to Urca. “Wasn’t that nice of Mr. Flint?” He gently ran two fingers on the bridge of Urca’s face. “Come on, let's get you a drink while we wait.” He pulled on the bridle and Urca followed John towards the water trough. 

Flint followed their path, although on the other side of the fence.

John tied the lead rope against the post and left Urca to blow bubbles in the water. He walked towards Flint, placing his boot on the bottom rail of the fence and climbing over so that he could sit atop it. He noticed the way James was running his hands over one another, like Lady Macbeth and her damned spot. 

“Come here,” John stretched out his arms and wiggled his fingers like a needy child. 

Flint moved to stand between John’s legs. He crossed his arms over the young man’s thighs and then leaned his chin against his arms in consideration. 

“What’s bothering you?” John asked as tucked the fallen hair behind both of Flint’s ears. 

The question made James pull back. John had to grab out for the fence in order to keep his balance. 

“I would like you to eat dinner at the farmhouse more often.” James finally said.

John didn’t know what to think of this at first. “Was it bothering you that I haven’t?”

Flint’s cheek twitched. “I would like, someday, for you to consider this your home in all regards John. Including that house.” He inclined his head towards the farmhouse, John followed his gaze.

“You want me to spend more time in your house?”

“It could be your house too, if you like?”

John hopped down from the fence, his chest scarcely brushing James’. “What is it you’re asking of me James? Be clear, don't avoid it.”

Flint released a heavy breath of air from his nostrils. “I just... Can we start with dinner? Will you eat with us?”

“All the time?”

“Always.”

John took a step back, his Adam's apple bobbing. “What if…” he paused, continuing at barely a whisper. “Everyone will notice I don’t eat with them anymore James.”

“I don’t give a fuck! If they don’t like it they don’t have to work for me John.”

“It’s illegal James! All it takes is loose lips.”

James knew this lesson all too well. “If they can’t accept you as our friend John they can accept you as a business partner.”

“What the hell are you—”

“I lived with Miranda and her husband in that house and no one...” his anger began to trail off at the thought of Thomas. “Please John I didn't want this to be a fight, I just fucking want you to spend more time in my home where I don’t need to be afraid to show you how much you mean to me.” He was surprised by the force of John’s lips as the young man barrelled into his chest. He brought his arms around him immediately, securing the firm kiss. “You fucking idiot,” he said tenderly. “You say you’re worried about people noticing and then you—”

Silver shut him up with another kiss. “I’ll eat dinner with you.”

“Yes?”

“Yes. As long as you don’t make me eat any beats. I hate beats.”

James let relief wash over his taut muscles. “No beats. I promise.” 

* * *

James had made beats, just to piss him off. 

John even ate one, just to spite James. 

* * *

“So will we be seeing you for dinner tomorrow?” Miranda asked as she watched James and John do the dishes together. 

“You two cook three times better than any of us down in the barracks.” John placed the last dish onto the drying rack for James to deal with. He dried his hands off on the tea towel Miranda handed him. “So that’s a yes, as long as the offer still stands?” He looked directly at Miranda to ensure he had her consent.

“It does,” she responded. “Although, we might have to bother teaching you how to cook if you join us regularly.”

John scrunched up his face. “I once gave an entire ranch food poisoning.”

James stared at John appallingly. John simply shrugged his shoulders while Miranda chuckled.

“All the more reason. It will be for our personal safety!” she teased. “Well, I suppose I’ll leave you two to say goodnight. I will be reading in the parlour if you need anything,” she added, brushing James' shoulder before giving John a friendly kiss goodbye on his cheek.

James put away the drying rack and hung the dish towel on the oven handle. When he next turned around, John was in front of him wrapping his arms around his waist and lining up their hips. 

“What was it you said about wanting to get me alone?”

James wasted no time in leaning into John’s lips. He cupped his face, giving him purchase as his tongue delved into the depths. He could feel John clutching at his waist, feel the burn of energy between them. Here, in this house, he was free to be who he wanted - to be with who he wanted. He could relish in the feel of muscular arms around him. Or the thrill that settled into his lower belly when he felt the hot press of wanting flesh.

“I want to hear you.” James pressed against John’s lips, basking in the soft sighs that left John’s lips as he kissed his cheeks and eyelids. “I want to hear every little noise you make. I want you to tell me a story with your pleasure.”

John groaned, his hands moving up to Flint's chest. “Kiss me again.”

Kissing John reminded him of the ocean, of an unexpected maelstrom that tossed your body about the deck; of the sway of sea-legs; and the unsettled tickle of nausea in your stomach caused by the rocking of the waves. It was an all encompassing experience.

If kissing Thomas had been his awakening, kissing John felt like it would be his ending.

He let out a moan of his own when John’s fingers began to play with his nipples. It was a curious touch, John seemed to be testing the boundaries. James took a step forward until he had John pressed against the ice box. 

John let out a single, and loud, groan of pleasure when the handle began to dig into his back. The cold chill of the ice box was in direct contrast to the heat he was feeling; the contradictions made him twitch in his pants. He clung onto James' shirt , feeling an overwhelming urge to drop to his knees. “I want you in my mouth. I want to suck your cock so badly. I want to taste you James,” he huffed against the shell of Flint’s ear, like a secret.

James wanted it too. The words nearly broke him; he wanted it so badly. But it was one thing to make out in the kitchen and another to have one’s cock sucked, especially with Miranda in the other room.

“I need to speak to Miranda first.” James said, his voice sounding foreign to his ears - gruff and weary. He pulled away and took a breath. “I need to speak with Miranda first, about what she is comfortable with us doing, and when, and where.”

John agreed, putting up no resistance in this matter despite the pulsing of his cock. Miranda’s comfort and happiness within this relationship was just as important to him. “Will you step out with me? I have something I’d like to show you before I leave?”

James considered this for a moment, something in the back of his mind thought John was suggesting they just go fuck out back, but when he looked into John’s eyes he saw an earnest need there. So he nodded and followed John out the door and off the porch. 

John brought them to - what in the daylight was usually - a patch of green grass next to the vegetable garden. John laid down on his back, looking into the sky. The sun had set an hour ago so it wasn’t overly dark, but the moon and the stars were out. James followed the cue and lay down next to John. 

“Do you see that star there,” he pointed into the sky with one hand, the other resting behind his head, acting like a pillow.

“The north star,” James acknowledged. 

“As you know, it never moves. It is constant. When my mother was sick she told me that was where she would journey too. She would be the brightest star so I never had to lose her; she would guide me and I would never lose my way.” 

James leaned closer to John, their shoulders touching. 

“See that star,” he pointed to the last star in the big dipper, “that’s my brother; and there, that’s my sister, and just beside her, my other brother.” 

James looked at John’s face as he pointed out the stars. There was a hint of sadness in his expression that told James these people were no longer with John. 

“They are all on their forever journey into the night sky. My mother always said the dead were in the stars so they could give us light through the darkness.” There was a beat as John gained his courage. “I never understood the stillbirths when I was a child. No one ever explained that the babies were born dead. I was just told that my siblings had died and mother would be ill for awhile. How does a child comprehend that he has a brother that he could never play with or fight with, but he must remember him in his heart?”

James knew that it was a rhetorical question so he did not answer, but he gave John the time he needed before he could continue with the very personal memory. 

“I understand why she told me the stories in the stars. It was her way of remembering. She was overcoming her grief when so many must have told her to move on. I just lay under the stars with her and listened.”

James could see the tears pooling in the bottom lid of John’s eyes, his lashes wet from blinking them away.

“I never gave my father a star when he died.”

“Would you like to now?” James asked softly and when John gave him a conflicted nod James pointed towards the handle of the little dipper. He had quickly realized that John’s mother had chosen stars in constellations so they could always be found on a dark starry night. “There, that one there is your father’s star. It’s keeping his distance but overlooking all others.”

John nodded in agreement before rolling onto his side and burying his face in James' chest. James wrapped his arms around John and kissed the top of his curls. 

They stayed like this, for quite some time, beneath the guiding light of the north star.

* * *

The next morning James had brought Miranda a cup of steaming tea in bed. He had stayed out with John, looking at the stars well into the night and Miranda had already been asleep when he came to join her.

“You were out late. Thank you,” she added as she took the delicate porcelain cup in her long thin fingers. It was warm to the touch, soothing. 

“John was telling me about his mother, she died in childbirth.”

Miranda sighed, it was a common tragedy. “I’m glad he’s sharing with you.”

“As am I.”

“What is it you need James?” She knew him so well. She could tell something was bothering him. 

“It has come to my attention that I would very much like to become more intimate with John, physically speaking.”

“I see.” Miranda blew on her tea, the comforting aroma of fresh spices seeping into her nostrils. “You wished to see how comfortable I was with this?”

“It’s your home Miranda”

“It’s our—”

“I know.” He cut off her favourite rant. “I still wish for you to have input.”

“We have two spare bedrooms James. Go put on a fresh pair of sheets. I don’t care what I hear, I don’t even care what I see, as long as all clothes are kept on in communal spaces.”

James leaned forward, careful not to spill the hot tea as he placed a kiss to her forehead.

“I only have one request James.” Her confidence began to falter as she proceeded. “I’m not used to sleeping alone. Since Thomas… You've always been here James. I don’t know if…” she felt a hand rest over-top of her own, causing the liquid inside the cup to slosh like water hitting a boat.

“I shall be here every night and every morning; should you need to fall asleep; should you need to find me from a nightmare; I will be here.” 

* * *

A few days later, early Sunday morning, John had entered the farmhouse kitchen. Most men took Sunday off to visit families or go to church. Usually the ranch was empty save for the owners and Silver. 

He found Miranda reading a book in the parlour, still in her nightgown. He looked up to the ceiling, waiting to hear any noise of Flint in the house. He must have been in the stables somewhere. 

“So James and I had a small spat the other day. Not an argument per say, but recently he’s been demonstrating to me how vested he is in this,” he pointed to his chest in explanation, “so I want to return the favour.”

“You do?”

“Remember that thing you whispered into my ear last week?”

“Yes.”

“Could you help me prepare a picnic?”

* * *

“John would like you to meet him at the river at noon,” Miranda had informed James that morning, happy to help John with his deviously romantic plan.

When James arrived at the river he was leery that they would be spotted even though it was a church Sunday. But the little picnic John had set up was too precious to allow any such reservations. 

“Do you like it?” John asked, adjusting the red and white gingham picnic blanket so that the edges were perfectly flat.

“You did all of this?”

“I may have enlisted Miranda’s help cooking.” John smiled proudly at the little cucumber sandwiches, the glazed ham, and most fondly, the little cakes - he and Miranda had a small little flour fight when it came to the cakes.

“I thought you said you couldn’t cook.”

“I absolutely cannot, that’s why I enlisted Miranda’s help and tutelage. She mentioned that the glazed ham was your recipe.”

“It is.”

Silver took a step forward, a suggestive saunter in the sway of his hips. “You’re an excellent kisser, a good cook, a brooding master, what other talents are you hiding from me?”

James laughed before pulling John into a carefree kiss. When he pulled away he looked around as if something was missing. “Miranda helped you with all of this and you neglected to invite her to the feast?”

John opened his mouth, then closed his mouth, then opened it again. “I had also been planning a little more scandalous surprise as well.” John pulled out a fresh bar of soap from his pocket, wrapped in a little red handkerchief. 

James shook his head fondly, unsure why he would be surprised that Silver had ulterior motives to his little picnic. “You do know that Miranda has seen me with her husband's cock down my throat.” James was rather pleased by the cute look on Silver’s face as he considered this fact.

“You mean you spoke with her? She wouldn’t object to…” Silver gestured between the two of them as James pulled him closer by the loops of his pants.

“As long as you aren’t planning to fuck me in there,” James looked towards the river.

“No I wasn’t—”

“Well go get her.”

Silver skirted off like a fox, quickly jogging away.

The smile on Miranda’s face when they returned moments later was enough for James to truly realize the amount of joy that had been missing from their lives. 

“You needn’t have invited me.” Miranda said to James as John led her to the blanket which was strategically placed under the largest tree to the right of the bank.

“I wanted you here. You are welcome here.”

Miranda looked at John, not wanting to be responsible for ruining the romantic surprise; he gave her a nod. “My boys are too kind.”

James' heart gave a pause; Miranda hadn’t referred to him as  _ her boy _ since Thomas. He had missed the affectionate moniker; because although Miranda had briefly been his lover, his steadfast friend and partner, she was first and foremost in many regards: mother.

“Well, let’s enjoy the food shall we? John worked very hard not to spoil it!”

They all sat down to enjoy their meal.

“I don’t know why we never thought to do this before?” Miranda asked sometime later, their bellies full as they lay on the blanket, protected by the dancing shadows. 

“Probably because you and Thomas were dreadful swimmers.”

“I almost drowned when I was a boy.”

Both James and Miranda turned to regard John with concern. The man in question seemed more entranced by the speed at which the clouds were altering formation in the clear sky above him. 

“Some boys were having a laugh and tried holding me under,” he added, feeling their questioning looks.

“That’s terrible,” Miranda lightly touched his wrist.

John chose to brush it off. He didn't like bringing attention to his past. It was becoming very evident to both James and Miranda that he preferred to divulge information in small amounts, in secrets, in jokes, as off handed comments, or in the form of stories. It was John’s way of being truthful, and if sometimes it needed a little decoding to understand the subtext, that was fine with the both of them, so long as their honesty remained. 

Instead, John sprung to his feet with the eagerness of youth and pulled off his shirt. “Come on!”

Miranda tried to avert her eyes when John’s pants came next, his flaccid cock bouncing as he ran into the river with a cheer.

“I think the whole ranch will have heard that!” James shouted towards the water, watching as John went under, only his feet and legs surfacing as he did his hand stands. “Come on,” James said more privately to Miranda, nudging her shoulder. “I’ll make sure you don't drown.”

Miranda gave him a look of mild concern as he stood up, blocking the sun from her eyes and creating an orange aura around his person. 

“Let him teach us how to have fun again, together.” James encouraged her and Miranda’s mind was made up as she remembered how much fun laundry and baking with John had been. She took James’ outstretched hand and he pulled her to fer feet. 

Miranda stripped down to her off white brazier and knickers, feeling absolutely ridiculous as James' bare ass beat her to the water. Bravely she tiptoed into the water. She felt herself relax as they began to splash around in the waist deep water together. 

She learned that John was quite the smart swimmer and his persuasive nature kept convincing her to take one step deeper, one step deeper, until her pebbled nipples were safely under water. She smiled as John held her hands and walked in playful circles with her, getting her used to the water. 

“How would you like to see a trick?” John asked and Miranda’s interest was piqued. 

“Very much so.”

“James, do us a favour,” John swam towards James. “Thread your fingers together and cup your hands.” John demonstrated for him. “I’m going to step onto your hands and I would appreciate it if you gave me a good boost into the air.”

James understood, the muscles in his throat tightening as John’s hands found purchase on his shoulders. He wobbled in his balance slightly, but James caught him.

“Ready?” John asked.

When James nodded he felt Silver’s foot in his hands, giving him a great boost, Silver shot into the air, performing a little back flip before splashing into the water.

John resurfaced to claps and Miranda’s giggles as he wiped the water from his eyes.

“I know another one, but I need to sit on James’ shoulders for that.” John swam around then, placing the front of his chest up to Flint’s back as he lazily wrapped his arms around Flint’s neck.

“I don’t think so!” Flint protested - not to the touch, but to whatever trick Silver had planning.

“But it’s fun!”

Miranda laughed at the pout and wink John exchanged with her behind James’ back.

“Because, I don't want your cock in the back of my neck!”

Silver pulled himself higher onto James’ back so he could see his profile. “Really? I think I’ve read this whole thing wrong then.” He and Miranda laughed while James attempted to playfully throw Silver from his back, like a horse with a rider.

Miranda could tell the two were becoming more tactical and since she was fairly certain the reason John threw this little picnic was more lecherous in nature she decided to make her leave. “Well boys, thank you for inviting me to your picnic and thank you for the swim John, but I best be going now.”

“Don’t leave!” John said, climbing higher onto James’ back.

“I'd like to do this again, with you two, but I really have some chores that need doing.”

“Miranda are you—”

“Have fun and take your time, the ranch is practically empty.” She said before walking up to the blanket. She used the blanket to dry herself off, her undergarments practically translucent in the sun. She put on her clothes and began to pick up some of the food and containers to take back up to the house, watching James lazily swim through the water with John pressed tightly to his back. Before making her leave she turned to look at John. “Oh and John, you remember what I told you?” she waited for John’s nod. She smiled when she received it, his cheeks colouring under the heat. “Good luck! Oh, and don’t lose the soap this time!” 

Miranda began to shrink in the haze of the humidity.

John held tightly to James’ shoulders before allowing the water to drift them face to face. John pulled them together, practically sitting in James’ lap. When James' hands came up to his legs and the small of his back he grinned triumphantly. 

“Did you really plan all of this, just so you could bathe with me?”

“I may have wanted an excuse to touch you.”

“You don’t need an excuse.”

John leaned in to kiss him. It was a slow kiss at first. Just lips exploring, not much tongue, not much thirst as it usually was. It was a contradiction of elegance and laziness. It was a kiss that could last hours, days, years. James felt his heart expand, he pulled John tighter and the little hum in the back of John’s throat was the end of him. James bit onto John’s bottom lip, reveling in the whine he gave him.

“Float on your back. I want to touch you,” James instructed. He placed a firm hand under John’s back, helping to prop him up as he brought his dominant hand out of the water. “Just look at you,” he said to himself as his finger hovered over John’s chest, water running down the digit and splashing in raindrops against John’s nipple. James could feel the tremor run through John’s body. He brought the finger down to John’s hairless chest, admiring the way his skin practically glowed in the sunlight. He felt his cock twitch at the heavy hitch in John’s breath as he teased his finger along his nipple. Setting a leisurely pace he admired John’s body, the firm feel of his muscle, the way his stomach fluttered with each touch, the delicious trail of curls that led to his splendidly hard cock. James nearly ground as he admired it. He wanted to taste it, he wanted to feel the heat of it inside him. He noticed that John had closed his eyes, his body shivering as James' finger made it to his belly button, water filling the little hole and pouring over his belly. When James teased the tip of his finger along the vein of John’s cock the man let out a strangled sound, his body bending at the stomach as he began to slip underwater, his hand reaching out to tightly grip James’ shoulder. 

“I can’t concentrate on floating when you do that to me!” 

James' maniacal smile was cut short when he felt John’s hand wrap around his cock. 

“I see someone else is just as hard?”

“Fuck,” James grunted, tossing his head back. It had been so long since he’d had another man's thick hand around his cock. And god, he thought, were John’s hands big. 

John gripped him tightly, the water helping in some regards. He tried to get his thumb to play with the head of James’ cock to tease his slit, but in the water it was a little difficult. “Miranda told me a little secret,” he pressed their chests together, his lips kissing at the shell of James’ ear. “She said you’ll come apart if I fondle your balls and nibble your ear?” John nipped the soft flesh of James’ ear in demonstration. He felt James quake beneath the touch, his cock trembling under the water. “Is it true? A touch as simple as that and whispered secrets into your ear?”

James didn’t nod, but the moment John fondled his balls was answer enough. James thrust his hips at the touch, his hands tightened at John’s back, and the moment John began kissing and nibbling his neck and ear James was cursing with desire. 

“Touch yourself,” John whispered, “stroke your cock. Feel the pressure of your hand, tight, firm.”

James' head fell forward as he followed John’s pleas, his forehead hitting the top of John’s shoulder as he continued to edge him towards orgasm.

“Imagine that was my ass, my sweet little hole puckering just for you.”

“Fucking Christ John, I need…”

John bit down on James’ ear while pulling, almost too hard, on James’ balls. “What do you need? Would you like my finger up your ass, because that’s what Miranda said would really tear you apart?”

“Fuck!” James' voice broke. “No, I need your cock. I want to feel it.”

John hadn’t fully comprehended at first but when James pulled their bodies together and their cocks brushed beneath the water John understood.

“You’re so fucking sexy right now James.” He kissed him as they rubbed their cocks together while trying to keep their footing in the muddy ground. “Shit!” John cussed when he felt James wrap his hand around both their cocks. He began stroking fast, their feet tangling and their hips bumping as they both pushed for their orgasms.

“Your hands. I want your hand.” James asked as John continued to nibble at his ear. When John complied and his hand joined James’ fumbling against their cocks, James came. “Fuck!” he shouted, and the shaking of his body and the splash of heat that hit John’s belly sent him over the edge moments later. 

They had to move to shallow water in order to catch their breath. John had even walked out of the river and collapsed onto the grass, his cock satisfied and his body dripping with pleasure. Moments later James came to join him, both men drying naked in the sun.

“That was payback,” John finally said, “for rendering me utterly impressed after our first kiss.”

James smirked as he let himself admire John’s body again. “I knew I should have been worried that you and Miranda would gang up on me.”

“Do you think she’ll really want to join us next time when she knows we’ve both soiled the water?”

James' eyes widened as he fully comprehended what they had done in a communal space for all members of staff. “Next time, I’m getting you in a bed where I can properly ravish you.”

“I look forward to it,” John said before rolling onto his stomach, his ass cheeks plump and ready for a tan. 

* * *

Ever since the river, James had been wanting to do something special for Miranda. Miranda had accepted John into their lives, she had become good friends with him: they baked together (cooking really wasn’t John’s thing) and they did laundry together. Miranda was being her absolute perfect self and James wanted to show his appreciation. 

So, a few days ago, James had gone into town regardless of his dislike for the suburban hub. The small town was nestled between mountains of rock. The two-way highway - which ran half a mile straight through the centre of town - consistently had cars parked on either side next to the family owned storefronts. The family atmosphere was nice enough, if you liked that sort of thing. But the problem with a small town was always the gossip. Whenever he or Miranda drove into town they were always subject to scrutiny due to their unmarried status. Most knew Miranda was a widow, but the fanciful loved to weave stories about a torrid affair; the irony did not escape James that this was the exact reason they had been forced to leave London.

James disliked the town and the people - even if they were occasional customers. He hated the superiority of the men with their short sleeve dress shirts, ties, and dress pants; they always balked at his faded black denims and loose fitted, open neckline shirts. James didn’t see anything wrong with dressing like a man who earned an honest living through manual labour. The women were even worse, with their perfect hair and drawn on faces. They were constantly staring at him and flirting; it was rare to get someone - particularly a man - of such fair complexion and red hair in New Mexico. Yet despite his qualms, James had taken the beat-up old pick-up truck, made an excuse about checking on the foal at Rackham’s, and driven the ten miles into the small town where he made his way into the old piano shop. 

Back in London Miranda used to play daily. She loved her piano and her music. Since moving to America, since starting Thomas’ farm, Miranda had been missing that part of her life. 

James had ordered an upright Steinway model with a polished mahogany case, two pedals, and carving embellishments done in gold filigree. It was an expense to be sure, but Miranda deserved it. 

The piano was scheduled to arrive today. James had paid for the piano to be delivered and installed into the house. He couldn’t wait to see Miranda's face. Normally, he didn’t like surprises (giving or receiving) but this one was going to be brilliant.

“You’re making me nervous,” Miranda said as James put his hands over her eyes and she struggled up the porch steps. She felt a hand reach out for her, acting as a guide. “Is that John?” she asked at the familiar feel of the palm within her own.

“It is,” John responded as he helped Flint lead her into the house. They walked her into the parlour.

“Ready?” James whispered.

“Yes!” she clutched John’s hand tightly out of fear for the unknown.

James pulled away his hands and he realized Miranda still had her eyes closed. “Open your eyes.”

Miranda took a moment to adjust to the light, and then to adjust to the room, and then she gasped as soon as she saw it. “A piano!” She looked back at James before walking forward and placing her delicate fingers over the keys.

“Well go on then, try it out.”

Miranda sat down at the bench - her fingers shaking with some trepidation before she played a familiar tune.

“It’s beautiful James,” she turned around and had tears of happiness in her eyes. James came to sit beside her at the bench and that was how John left them, enjoying the music.

* * *

That same evening, after dinner, James had taken out a bottle of scotch in celebration and Miranda insisted she play for them. About four songs in John had stood from his armchair and whispered a request in her ear. Her fingers stopped immediately and instead she began to play a lively tune.

“Dance with me?” John took the glass from James’ hand and set it on the table before grabbing James’ hand.

“I don’t really like—” but James was cut off as John pulled him to his feet. 

John took their joint hands and pulled James into a hold, his other hand reaching around James' middle to rest at the small of his back. When John felt the similar touch ease onto his own back he began leading James around in a skipping pattern of footwork before spinning him madly through fits of laughter. It was by no means a proper square dance, but it was fun and that was what mattered. Even Miranda’s fingers were faltering with laughter as she watched them make fools of themselves.

“How about we slow this down Miranda, let’s show him what a proper waltz looks like.” James suggested, all his reservations about dancing entirely forgotten.

Miranda easily transitioned into a waltz, the light melody echoing in the wooden walls of the room. James held his arms higher and placed John’s hand on his shoulder rather than back. As soon as he began the familiar box step he realized that John either had naturally impeccable rhythm, or he was familiar with the waltz.

“My mother taught me,” John explained. “I used to step on her feet constantly.” 

They shared a genuine smile before their steps began to slow and they mostly swayed to the music in one another's arms. John eventually rested his head into the curve at James’ neck.

“Stay,” James whispered. “Stay with me tonight?”

John pulled back, his cerulean eyes full of questions. “Here?”

“Stay. Just sleep in my bed. Be by my side.”

John wasn’t sure if it was the scotch clouding his judgment or making him so bold, but he pressed a kiss to James lips and whispered: “I’ll stay.”

* * *

When he followed James and Miranda up the staircase to the second floor he began to feel excited. Crossing this barrier would mean he was becoming a part of something.

Miranda said goodnight to them outside her door, thanking James for the piano once more before giving each of them a little kiss on the lips. John had flushed slightly, she had never done that before. When she closed the door behind them John noticed a tightening in James’ posture. 

“What is it?”

James was struggling internally. He wanted nothing more than to spend the night in John’s arms, but he had made a promise to Miranda; he would not leave her alone. At the same time, he didn’t think it fair to abandon John in the night after having asked him to stay. James explained all this and John pulled him into a weary hug and told him that he understood, but that he might have a suggestion for a possible solution. 

And thus, James opened the bedroom door to find Miranda in her nightgown and tucked into bed with a book.

“James, you needn't be here, go and…” but her words trailed off as she noticed a head of dark curls standing in the doorway. “Oh?”

“Would you mind Miranda?”

She smiled. “Come on boys.”

Both men stripped down to their underwear. James climbed into the middle of the bed and John followed in beside him.

Miranda watched as they grasped each other immediately, John slotted perfectly against James’ body before they closed their eyes to welcome sleep. She let out a hum as she turned off her bedside lamp, set down her book, and joined them in sleep. 

* * *

The next morning when Miranda woke up she noticed John in his briefs snooping at the things laid out on her dressing table.

“Where’s James?” she asked, bleary eyed and lamenting the empty bed.

“He went down to make you tea. He told me not to break anything while he was gone, so naturally I had to go through everything.”

“Naturally,” Miranda concurred before letting out a yawn. The sun was barely peeking through her window so she knew it was still early. “Did you sleep well?”

“Exceptionally.”

She watched as he picked up the silver framed photograph on the dressing table. The easy grin on his face faded to one of contemplation. 

John stared at the three of them. Miranda on one side and James on the other side of a relatively tall man with short hair and kind eyes.

“Is this Thomas?” John asked, holding the picture to Miranda as if she needed to see it to be sure, as if she didn’t know Thomas in the very fibre of her bones.

“It is.”

“He has a nice smile.”

Miranda didn’t respond, her attention diverted to the doorway where James stood, fully dressed. John, unaware of his return.

“I’ve been meaning to ask,” John held the photo with one hand. “Why is it called Hamilton Ranch?”

“Put that down!” James growled out through clenched teeth.

John was so startled he dropped the picture frame. 

James walked over in four quick strides, tea sloshing over the rim of the porcelain cup and staining the floor. He knelt to the floor in panic, searching through the shattered glass with one hand and pulling out the photograph. He picked it up reverently, careful not to damage the corners. “Don’t you have work to do?” he snapped harshly as he stood back up.

John scrambled to find his pants, knowing his cheeks were likely shining with tears as he struggled to dress and rush downstairs. He didn't even say goodbye to Miranda.

“James how could you!” she scolded, sitting up on her knees in bed.

The adrenaline passing, James realized that the scalding tea was leaving an angry trail of red down his hand and onto his forearm. His reflexes took over and he let go of the cup, the delicate thing crashing to the floor in a crescendo of bitter feelings. He was shaking. He nearly dropped the photograph except he stumbled backwards and slumped onto the foot of the bed. Miranda crawled forwards and wrapped her arms around his neck, her hands crossing just over his heart. 

“It is just a frame James. I know it is hard to talk about him. I know it is hard to welcome someone new into your heart where he already holds so much space, but what you just did to John was horrible.”

“I know!”

She realized he was sobbing, big, hot, angry tears. “Oh hush sweetheart.” She began to rub along his back. “Cry out your feelings, get your head straight, and then go apologize to John.”

* * *

John avoided him all morning with very good reason. James wanted to do this privately, he didn’t want to start a scene. He also didn’t want to ambush John. So instead he grabbed an empty barrel and sat outside the stable, overlooking the lunging pen and watching John nearly all afternoon. Just before dinner Billy had taken Urca back to the paddock and John was left to return the equipment to the stable. John ignored Flint as he walked past him at the stable’s entrance. But Flint stood and upon realizing the stable was empty he sucked in a deep breath of air.

“I am sorry John.”

John scoffed at the sentiment, his back to Flint as he hung up the bridle.

“I think sometimes I am not ready to move on.”

“So what has all this been?” Silver turned dramatically. “Why the fuck have you been forcing me to be honest, tearing apart my goddamn soul! What happened to being valued, to being fucking wanted? You pushed and you pushed James! You just can’t fucking do that to another person.”

“Please John,” he begged, his heart splitting as the tears trailed down John’s face. “Please, let me explain.”

“Explain what? That I’ve finally found a home but I’ll have to leave again. Don’t you fucking worry James I’m used to that. I’m used to being let down and disappointed—”

“No, let me tell you the truth!” he cut him off, real fury in his voice. His cheek twitched when John took a step back out of genuine fear. “Let me tell you all of it.” His voice was quiet. Broken. “Thomas, London, this ranch, my feelings. Let me become transparent to you.”

“Why?” John spat. “Why?”

_Love._ That was why. Instead he appealed to John’s good sense of humour. “Because Miranda will cut my balls off if I can’t convince you to get back into our bed, into our home, into… our hearts.” 

John wiped the tears onto the back of his hand. “Really?”

“Yes.”

“Fine.” He spat, feigning indifference even though he knew that he had to say yes, that he would follow Flint anywhere no matter how many times he kept breaking him. 

“Tonight.” James risked two steps forward. “Meet me at the bonfire behind the barracks.” Another two steps. No space between them. “Midnight. I don't want anyone to find us.” He risked bringing his hand up to John’s face, wiping the last remaining tears with the pads of his thumbs. “Just you and I John,” he whispered. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll be honest, it's a little disheartening to write a 7,000+ word chapter and not get a single comment......


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hang on to your saddles, this bad boy is 12,000+

He felt absolutely sick to his stomach.

* * *

It was two minutes to midnight and he still hadn’t shown up. James knew that if he didn’t this was over. He would have lost yet another.

He hung his head, the flames dancing in orange glows across his face. There was a rustle, the bushes heaving against the wind. The flame of the fire was low - he feared it might go out - he feared he would return to the darkness alone, with nothing to illuminate it. A memory occurred to him, he looked up to the sky. 

The north star was a beacon of light tonight.

* * *

“Sorry I’m late.” He had waited till the last second just to gain the courage to face him. He watched as James' head snapped down from the sky, finding his silhouetted form in the night. James looked tired, the skin under his eyes was sunken and soft. He didn’t say a word. John looked over his shoulder, towards the barracks, and almost considered leaving. Instead, he sat down on the log across from Flint, his knees popping with the movement. 

James opened his mouth to speak but instead he was drawn to the curls hanging over Silver’s face. They were getting longer. He took in the dark navy t-shirt and plaid sleeping pants; he wondered if he had just rolled out of bed. “You want to know the truth.” He finally spoke, aware of the distance between them and the dangers of the flames.

John didn’t respond.

James scooted forward, seating himself on the edge of his log, feeling the penance from the flames as they threatened to scourge his skin with volatile red sparks and ash. 

“I was a Lieutenant in the Navy when I first met the Hamiltons: Thomas and Miranda. The ranch bears his namesake. I was assigned to Lord Hamilton just before the war in an effort to support his plans for the extraction of refugees in Europe. He needed someone with knowledge of sailing for transport purposes.”

“Lord Hamilton?” John had interrupted with an apologetic air. He had meant to simply listen tonight, but he was surprised and didn’t fully understand this piece of information. 

“Yes. It was a family title, going back to the Victorian era. He was a wealthy, married, son of a prominent English family. I was an officer of no birth who was having an affair with his wife until, of course, I began to understand that it was Thomas with whom I was interested.” James smirked as he examined a ring on his finger bearing the Hamilton seal. “We were happy together. The three of us. Immeasurably happy. But when Thomas’ father found out he had me discharged and was going to send Thomas to some sort of camp. That is why we fled England. To escape the oppressive and judgmental post-war society.” James tried to study the expression on John's face, to wager some of what he was feeling but he couldn’t find anything of relevance. He proceeded: “Thomas had always wanted to move to the country, he wasn’t fond of cities: of London. That was when I found the acreage for sale in New Mexico. Thomas acquired it, we sold what we could for money, we packed up, and together, the three of us escaped here.”

John noticed James look towards the sky again, almost as if he was looking for his own star. 

“The first few months were gruelling work. We didn’t know how to run a farm and we didn’t have nearly enough workers. But when Miranda suggested horses, everything began to click. We sold them for breeding, we trained them for farm work, we started boarding them and we began to make money. But then Thomas got sick.” James’ head fell. He hadn’t spoken this aloud to anyone. He hadn’t given his grief life. “Thomas contracted polio. It can be quite threatening for adults, especially ones with pre-existing health issues: Thomas always had weak lungs, even as a child. When the paralyses got to his lungs he could barely breathe…” James' voice trailed off as if there were more gruesome facts to report but he didn’t have the heart to do it. “It was agony, watching his beautiful mind intact, his body broken.” He inhaled a strangled breath. “In the end it was the pneumonia that took him from us.” 

John’s anger, his sense of inadequacy, had vanished; but the sickness in his stomach remained. 

“I once told you that my grandfather taught me how to be a man; it was Thomas who taught me how to be a good one. He taught me to stand up for those in need, he taught me how to be true, he taught me how to love without shame.” It was at this point that his voice finally broke and his shoulders slumped inward. 

John stood from his log, dashing over to James' side. As soon as his arms found him in the sideways embrace James fell to his knees, the grass softening the fall.

He looked up to John, his fingers digging painfully into the man's arms for support. “Thomas was my truest love and loving you feels like I am betraying him,” his head fell into his own hands and John supported the slumping weight of his body. “No matter how much I know that he wanted me to be happy, to love without shame! But he is such a big part of my heart, I didn’t know if I was ready to share that part with you, to lay myself bare, transparent to you John.” 

John felt a gentle brush of fingertips against his face before he pulled James into an impossibly tight embrace, then man clutching out to him, begging to bring him closer, to bring him into himself.

“I am genuinely sorry.” John didn’t know what else to say. He didn’t know how any of his words could console this man of the thing that had breathed light into his life but was no longer here. Instead John held him and whispered against his temple: “Would you like to give Thomas a star?”

James nodded as he shook within John’s arms. 

In a mirror of before, John looked up to the sky and pointed out the last star in the Draco constellation. His mother had said that those stars were never setting and could be seen all year in the northern latitudes. John thought James would like that idea; that Thomas’ light would never set. “There,” he said, “that star right there, that’s Thomas’ star.”

“It’s beautiful.” 

John nodded against his temple. “Did you really mean it James?” he breathed.

James buried himself into the embrace. “Mean what?”

“When you said… you said that loving me… did you mean it?”

James turned in John’s arms, his bottom lip wobbling with emotion as he cupped John’s face. “Yes, I meant it.”

“I’ve never been something to anyone before. I’ve never felt this way, emotionally. I’ve never been in love before James.”

James pulled him down into their embrace, rolling onto his side so that they could lay by the fireside beneath the stars. James kissed his cheek, feeling wetness there; John realized that now he was the one crying.

They held each other tightly, looking into the stars and making peace with the ones no longer here.

* * *

Miranda had hugged him when he returned to the farmhouse the next morning, both of them overcome with loss once again.

* * *

Urca was showing off. The stubborn, uncooperative, stallion had instead transformed into a horse eager to learn and show others what he knew. 

Over the last few days John had gotten him to change between a walk, trot, and gallop; he still wasn’t fond of the tickle of the whip and he protested every time John pulled on the lead rope, hoping to teach the horse to change directions. It might take some time, but they were making good progress.

Since that night at the bonfire, John had been avoiding James. He told him he still needed a little time to settle into his feelings. He was still very hurt by James' rejection; John understood the pain behind it now, he understood the significance of Thomas in creating James. It was hard to live alongside a memory. Especially one that was etched in James blood.

James continued to watch him nonetheless. He didn’t push him or rush him, but he wanted John to know that he was still here. He would wait an hour, a day, a year, whatever it took. 

As a result, John hadn't been up to dinner at the farmhouse since James had kicked him out that morning. Miranda, being a good friend, was constantly checking in on John - especially now that Urca was more polite among humans. 

“You know I think you're both being foolish.” She nudged her shoulder against John as they sat under a shady tree near the stable. 

“I know.”

Miranda knew things weren’t perfect between James and John right now. But she also knew of what had exchanged between them. A small part of her wanted to admit that she was grateful John knew everything about Thomas because she finally had someone to talk to about him, about their memories, about their love. And John had done just that. He had listened, even despite his inner turmoil. That was one of the reasons Miranda had decided to be patient with him, to allow him to wallow in his feelings. But Miranda’s patience was running thin. 

“I know he was rude. I know he hurt you. I know it might seem like a ghost is coming between you, but you love each other John - you’ve both admitted it. So why not be in love together?” When no response came, she continued: “I know James. He has never been in love with someone outside of Thomas and myself and  _ you _ ,” she added. “This is real to him.”

“I know that it is real.” John paused, lost within his own thoughts. “I’m afraid of getting hurt again. I don’t know what I would do, Miranda.”

“Come here,” she pulled him to her bosom and began to run her fingers through his curls.

John was reminded of his mother.

A tear escaped down his cheek. 

* * *

John woke up covered in sweat. His chest was tight and his body was shaking. He was cold. He felt like he was going to be sick. He ran to the bathroom, neglecting to close any doors in his wake before hanging over the toilet. He began retching, his throat raw, his stomach convulsing, but nothing came out. He remembered the dream: the nightmare. He stood up, gripping the sink, his knuckles turning white. He turned on the tap, the metal burnt his skim. He let the water run, flooding his mind. He splashed the cold liquid on his face. He had to get it off. He had to get the blood off.

“Shit!” His voice was broken. Everything was broken. 

He didn’t remember putting the jeans and flannel shirt on. He didn’t remember walking to the stables: his feet just led him there.

His hands were still shaking. He was too jittery to be around the horses, he knew that. But he needed to see him. This is where they would meet, on a sleepless night. He just always seemed to be here when he needed him. And he needed him.

But James wasn’t there.

John ran a hand through his hair before bending at the waist. He lout out a silent scream of frustration as he braced himself on his knees, the air in his lungs feeling like needles.

This time it was his heart that led him forwards, rather than his feet. He didn’t know if he should yell up to the window, he didn’t know if he should call out for help. 

In the end, he ended up sitting on the porch, trying to collect his breathing, trying to stop the ringing echoes of the gun fire in his ears. 

He knocked on the screen door. It was so gentle, so frightened, there was no way anyone would have heard.  He wouldn’t have to bother them with this.  But minutes later he flinched, hearing the creaking steps of the staircase. The door was opened. John felt his heart drop.

“I didn't know where else to go. I needed you.”

James could see that he was not well, he was clearly under some kind of duress. He took a step onto the porch, an arm reaching out toward John. John took a step back. “Come inside John.”

“No, no, I want to go to the stables. I went to the stables but you weren’t there.”

“Okay, okay,” James soothed. “But you need to calm down a bit first.” He opened his arms, giving John the invitation.

John barrelled forward, his head smacking into James’ chest and stealing his breath away. He closed his eyes and listened to the beating of his heart - his breath began to slow. “My father’s dead.”

James tightened his grasp. “I know.” He gave a kiss to the top of John’s head and held him. When the shaking began to stop he asked: “Will you be okay if I go put some clothes on, or do you want to come with me?”

John told him that he would be fine and James rushed upstairs to change, careful not to wake Miranda. 

They walked to the stables slowly. John didn’t reach out for his hand, but they remained in close proximity. When they got to the stables James gently woke Aurelius up and prepared him for John.

Despite his panic from before, John seemed to calm immediately. He raised his palm to Aurelius’ white coat before resting his face against the horse's neck and held the creature. John closed his eyes, the familiar huff of a horse's breath easing him back to reality. 

James watched on in admiration of the unspoken bond between the two. At first, Aurelius had been grumpy from being awoken, but as soon as John touched him, it was as if the horse knew of John’s need.

After some time, James had gone to the hay bale, leaning his head against the wall as he watched the two.

“I had a nightmare.” John spoke, pulling away from Aurelius to brush through his main instead.

“I gathered that. It must have been why I wasn’t sleeping well myself. It’s almost as if you and I have become one mind.”

John sighed and looked down to what he realized was his bare feet - he must have forgotten shoes. “Can I tell you about it?”

“Please.”

John went to sit beside James. “It was about my father. My father’s death. He died right in front of me.” He remembered it through a haze of sunshine, with spots across the memory like the ones you got from staring at the sun too long. He remembered his father sitting horseback. He remembered himself on the ground, holding the lead. He remembered the white man with his shotgun, a pretty wife and daughter behind him. He remembered smiling at the girl before. He remembered yelling and panic.  _ This is private property. We don’t want Indians here! _ He remembered the echo run through the mountains. He remembered the scream. He remembered the feel of blood, his father’s blood, spraying across his face. He remembered the horse scatter. He remembered dragging his father’s body to the roadside. He remembered giving up.

But he couldn't tell James any of this. He couldn't know.

“He was shot in the head by a neighbouring farmer over a property dispute. It was close to the end of the war. I was twelve.” 

“That’s a hard thing for a boy to watch.”

“I felt so guilty,” Silver admitted. “I abandoned him. I must have passed out and someone from the ranch must have brought me back. One minute he was there and then…” his voice trailed off. He let out a deep sigh. “I hated him for so long. I blamed him for my mother’s death. He was always working, he never showed us any affection, and he always criticized me.  _ You can do better tsay. Try again. That's women's work. It’s not good enough. _ ”

James noted the unfamiliar word John had used, it didn’t sound like any of the Spanish he knew. But he did not remark on it, instead he chose to listen. 

“He never beat us,” John continued. “He was distant. I never understood why I hadn’t connected with him. Most people are charmed by me, even as a child. And he was always there for me. He supported us - and yet I hated him for how lonely he made us feel. I still hate him.” John let out a heavy sigh. He knew it went deeper than just this, he knew on some level he blamed his father because he was half Pueblo: it was the part of him that many were uncertain of, the part they didn't want to accept, the part he had to hide, the reason he had no home, no true people. He didn’t look fully Spanish, he didn’t look American, he didn’t even look Native, he just didn’t fit. And his father never spoke of their heritage, like he gave up his claim to it the moment he married a white woman. The logical part of John knew it was because his father had gone through similar feelings as he; the grandparents he had never met were also interracial. It was this similarity between father and son that seemed to wedge the loneliness between them even further. They were the same. They  _ were _ the same.

He missed his mother.

“It’s okay to have complex feelings regarding your father.” James put his hand on John’s thigh, in a comforting way.

“Do you know what I realized James?” he waited for an answer but James gave him a look that expected him to continue. “You were the first person I wanted. Overcome with grief, I knew that all I needed to make it better was you.” He felt relieved when James pulled him into a hug. “I’m sorry. I don’t need any more time James. I want to be with you.”

James pulled back from the embrace, only so that he could capture John’s lips with a tender kiss. “Come on, I’ll take you back to your room and I’ll stay with you till you fall asleep.”

And he did.

* * *

With James and John back on good terms Urca’s training seemed to flourish. The stallion was now executing speed and direction commands from both the lead and the lunge whip. James had even risked waiving the once dreaded blankets in Urca’s face while running laps in order to ensure the horse was well finished with his sensitivity phobia. Urca had passed the test and would be ready for saddle training soon. 

John had still yet to show up to the farmhouse for dinner, but James figured that would come with time. Meanwhile, they were back to exchanging smiles, fervent glances, and secret touches. James was especially fond of sneaking his hand into the back pocket of John’s jeans and cupping his ass. He was certain that Billy had caught them once, but by the time the beefy man could perform his double take James had already removed his hand. 

Unfortunately, just as things seemed to be getting better, that was just when disaster struck. 

* * *

He had arrived at about seven o'clock the next night. Miranda had been the first one to hear the sound of the engine and the crunch of gravel as it was chewed and spit out by the tires of a car.

She pulled aside the curtain in the parlour and looked out to their unexpected visitor. “You need to find John and hide him.” 

“What?”

She looked over her shoulder to James. “You need to go find John and hide him!”

“Why?”

She snapped around, the curtain dropping back over the window and swaying with gravity. “The sheriff is here James. It is vitally important that he doesn’t find John.” She could sense that he was about to question her again. “Trust me! Go and hide John.” When he still made no movement she yelled: “Now!”

James exited through the back door. He noticed the lights of the sheriff's vehicle now. He noticed the car door opening. He started running. He ran through the stables - the quickest way to get to the barracks. He ran down the corridors until he came to the room that he knew to be John’s. He hoped John was in there; he hoped he didn’t have to waste time searching the barracks. 

“What are you—” John asked in surprise when his door was pushed open with no knock and Flint stood their panting. 

“We need to go, now.”

“What, why?” John asked, while simultaneously looking for a flannel to pull on over his grey tank-top. 

“You tell me? Miranda seems to think that you might have reason to hide from the sheriff?”

“Oh shit!” John’s eyes went wide and his urgency increased.

“Oh excellent, so you do have reason to be hiding from the law. Jesus Christ why does no one tell me anything!” James complained as John closed the bedroom door behind them..

“Where are we going?”

“Follow me,” he said as they walked briskly from the barracks. “We have a storm cellar next to the sewage tank. No one ever thinks to look there, that’s why Thomas built it.”

“Why?”

“To protect illegal workers, refugees, why else do you think?”

John paled. He stumbled, losing his footing out of anxiety. He felt James grab at his elbow and usher him forwards at a quicker pace. He heard voices in the distance, Miranda’s, and the sound of the screen door. They paused some distance from the sewage tank. It was dark, but John could make out the door to a hidden storm cellar. 

James pulled it open. “Get in,” he instructed.

John nodded absentmindedly. It was dark in the cellar, he couldn’t even see the staircase that led to its depths. With trepidation he took a step inside, allowing his foot to feel for the end of the step before descending to the next one. He turned around to see James, his body hesitant to proceed.

“Don’t make a sound,” James pleaded, beginning to lower the door a fraction as John walked in backwards, his hands and feet feeling for the stairs. “I will come get you when it’s safe.” And without another word he closed the door, engulfing John into fear and darkness. 

* * *

“Good evening Sheriff, please come in.” Miranda said, sickly sweet, in an effort to get him in the house as soon as possible so as not to risk him seeing James running outside. 

“Why thank you ma’am.” The man took his hat off with the polite bearing of a gentleman. “I was wondering if I could speak with your husband?”

Miranda noticed a long ropy scar along the side of his face. “My husband passed away nearly ten years ago.”

“I am sorry to hear that.” He exchanged a look with his deputy before scanning his eyes around the kitchen.

“Would you perhaps care for a refreshment? You are welcome to sit in the parlour—”

“If you do not have a husband, who is the man called Flint? The one in charge of this ranch?”

Miranda had to bite the inside of her cheek. “My late husband’s business partner.”

“Yes, good, and where is he?”

With perfect timing Miranda heard the sound of the backdoor closing. “He just went out to put something in the compost, he should,” she smiled when James entered the kitchen, short of breath, but trying to hide it, “here he is now.”

“Mr. Flint?” the man asked. “Sheriff Rogers,” he introduced himself, offering his hand for a firm shake. 

Flint, regrettably, shook his hand. Both he and Miranda had yet to meet the Sheriff, but they did not like what they read about him in the papers; he was ruthless and running the county into debt. 

“I am sorry to bother you and your…” he looked over Miranda with a sideways glance and decided it was best not to pursue that line of thought, “but I received a tip from Mr. Hornigold that you might, whether knowingly or not, harbour illegal workers on your farm.”

Miranda feigned shocked. 

“That cannot be possible Sheriff Rodgers,” Flint explained as he walked into the dining room, unlocked Miranda’s desk, and returned with her files on all the employees. “Ms. Barlow keeps very extensive records. All our employees' papers are in order.”

Rogers’ took the offered documents. He took his time to go through them. 

James wished he could have reached out to Miranda, but he knew it would be misconstrued by this narrow minded man. Instead, they exchanged a look. He nodded, and felt the tension in her shoulders visibly ease. 

Until Rogers’ came across the wages charts. Miranda had been very careful to keep Silver’s pay off book, not even James knew this. But there was still a small spike of fear in her as the Sheriff examined the records.

“Everything does seem to be well in order. But, you wouldn’t mind if we had a look through the ranch would you?” his grin was confident.

“Of course not,” James answered, taking the documents back and giving them to Miranda. “Do you want me to get the men—”

“No, you just stay here, Mr. Flint. My men know what to do.” He turned and gave his deputy a nod. The man whistled, and officers from three additional cars stepped out and began sweeping the property. 

They all stepped out onto the porch, watching the flashlights dance in the sky. Miranda was startled when the lights from the cars were directed towards the farm, bathing the land in an artificial glow to help aid their search. About ten minutes later all the men had been brought out of the barracks and lined up in front of the farmhouse, all were accounted for. 

James could see the rage building in the Sheriff’s brow.

“You!” Rogers’ pointed towards Billy. He stood on the bottom step of the porch as an officer brought Billy to him. “Tell me, are all the men who work on this farm present? Are they all accounted for?”

Billy took a chance to turn around, to regard the men. 

Silver wasn’t there. 

He turned back around to face Rogers, his gaze going to Flint. 

Flint held his breath, unsure of what Billy would say in this moment.

Billy swallowed. “Except for the men who live off property with their families, these are all the men sir.”

Rogers cursed under his breath. He took a step off the porch, looking over the landscape of the farm, calculating his next move. He walked back up the porch. “Sorry to bother you at this hour. If you hear word of any illegal workers in the area, please keep us informed.”

“Of course,” Miranda said as James shook the Sheriff’s hand.

“Let’s go!” The Sheriff called out. One by one the officers entered the cars and the vehicles pulled out the driveway and off the ranch. 

Everyone took a moment to breathe easier.

“Sorry everyone,” Flint addressed the dozen men who had been forced from their barracks into this line-up. “Gates, why don’t you pull out some bottles of wine for everyone? My treat to enjoy the rest of their evening.” 

Gates nodded and the men were easily pleased with this. Those who worked on ranches were used to raids like this, although none had ever been conducted on a ranch as small as Hamilton Ranch. 

Billy had stayed behind while the rest of the men sauntered back to the barracks. “What’s going on?” he asked Flint, less intimidated by him since he had begun to work on Urca with them.

Flint sighed. Billy had lied for them. But the truth of that lie, even Flint didn’t know. He turned to Miranda.

Miranda opened her mouth, and closed it again as she contemplated her word choice. “We protect our own on Hamilton Ranch. We take in those who need a family.”

Billy considered this for a moment and then smiled. “We do.”

“Good work Billy,” Flint thanked him briefly and the man positively glowed with the praise. 

* * *

James had been too furious to let John out of the cellar. “I should make him spend the night there, for lying to me!”

“He didn’t lie to you James!” Miranda defended. “It was me. I knew. I’ve known since his first week here. I told him that I would tell you and I just… don’t be mad...” her words trailed off. “If you let him explain I’m sure you will understand.”

James took a step forward, his back arching as he loomed over her. “Don’t begin to assume what I will or will not understand, Miranda!” His cheek twitched. He took a step back. His head shook in disbelief. “You never hide anything from me. Why this?”

“Because it was of no relevance!”

“The past is always relevant.”

“Not to John!” Miranda professed. “To John, the past is painful, it is a reminder of all the things he has left behind as he tries to move forward, to become a new man. Each time you delve deeper he feels like he is baring a part of his soul that does not represent who he has become.”

“But—”

“I know, the past is important to you James. The past was your beginning, the very foundations of your motives. But John has always been the type of man to live in the present, not the past, nor even the future.” 

James said nothing in response, but he did appear to be thinking.

“For fuck’s sake,” she gave in, “I’ll go get him.”

* * *

Miranda had explained everything to John on the way back to the farmhouse: the search, how Billy had defended him, how Flint knew about the lack of papers. She had warned him that he would likely be angry.

When they returned they found James sitting on the sofa, his elbow leaning on his knees as his head hung forwards. He looked up when they entered the room. 

“You both wilfully withheld information from me.” He sounded disappointed until he spat out his next words: “and don’t say that it was fucking irrelevant Miranda, it was very relevant. I need to know if the men on my farm are legal. I need to know if I am wilfully engaging in a crime.”

“What makes your refusal to participate in this crime, different from your engagement in another?” John questioned, sensitive to James' words. “You and I are a crime James. They would see us imprisoned for the way we love. You are complicit in this crime.” 

“That is different. I will never apologize for loving someone.”

“And do you think I wilfully choose to have no papers? Do you think it’s my fault I have no record of birth? Do you think it’s my fault the white men came to my father’s farm? Do you think it's the fault of a ten year old boy that they took our land, because we have Pueblo blood in our veins, disguised in the name of the war effort!” He was shaking now. “Do you think it’s my fault I watched them burn down our home, the home my mother died in! Do you think any of this is my fucking fault!” 

James stood up and walked towards John. He grabbed at his shoulders, he tried to soothe him. When it wasn’t working James grabbed his face, his thumbs stroking his temples as he held his head firmly and forced John to look at him. “Of course it’s not your fault.” He kissed his forehead. “But I needed to know. If I am to protect you. I need to know. We need to have plans in place.” He added, his voice broken in pitch: “I will protect you.”

John’s lower lip trembled, saliva pooling in his mouth as his body fought through anger and tears. He bumped his forehead against James. “Despite all this, I am still alone in this world.”

“John, John, no,” he questioned as John pulled from his grip and moved into the kitchen. 

“John, stay in the guest room, please, I’ll have James go stay in the barracks,” Miranda pleaded as his hand came to grasp the knob on the screen door. 

He turned around and stood in the doorway. “No, I’ve put everyone here in danger. You don’t need to worry about protecting me, Mr. Flint. I’ll likely be gone tomorrow.”

“No, John!” Miranda screamed after him as John walked off the porch. She ran after him, but James followed quickly, grabbing her by the waist and pulling her to his chest as she shouted after him.

“I’m sorry Miranda,” he repeated as he held her. “Let him go.”

She pushed free from James' chest, sending him a vile look. “Go after him James. I’m not letting you back in this house until you return with him.” 

* * *

James’ palm was flat against the wall. His head was bent low. He stood there for several minutes, listening to the soft sounds inside the room. At one point he had heard John crying; at another he heard the sound of clothing presumably being tossed on the bed. When everything became still, James finally knocked.

“Go away.” John’s voice was deep, but cracking under pressure. 

“I’m sorry I reacted poorly. Please may we speak?”

“I have nothing more to say to you James. You know all that I can bear to be known, even that with which I can’t.”

James sighed. “Then please, just listen.” When no objection came, James decided to proceed. He leaned his back against the door and slid down until he was seated on his ass, his knees up. “Did you really think I would care about who you come from?” No answer. “It does not change how I view you, in any way. You are still the wise, adaptive, carefree, and loving man that I myself have come to love.” James heard movement, he felt a pressure on the door: John sat down with him, back-to-back. He continued: “And I do love you John. I couldn't bear to have you feel that you are alone in the world, when mine and Miranda's life would be incomplete without you. You have taught us both how to laugh again, how to welcome joy into our lives. You helped fix a fractured relationship just by being you.” James wrung his hands together, feeling like somehow this was a goodbye. “I’m sorry that I have pushed you. I hold the past in a different regard than you - Miranda, she’s so observant - to me the past has been my making, whereas it is your present that forms you. I will always be haunted by my past.” He let out a shaky breath, “I was only angry with you because you neglected to tell me - I understand it wasn’t your fault!” he added quickly. “Thomas hid his illness at first. He didn’t want to worry us. I keep thinking that if I had known sooner, I could have protected him. I could have saved him. He might still be alive.” James wiped away a stray tear and cleared his throat. “I want to be able to protect you as well John. I’ll be a broken man again if I lose you.” James paused, the back of his head hitting the door. “But I … I once told you that you never have to leave unless you choose to. So I understand if you feel the damage I have done is irreparable. I understand if you want to—” James stumbled backward, realizing that the door had been opened. He put his hands to the ground to keep his balance. Looking backwards, the world was upside down, even the smile John was giving him appeared to be a frown. 

“I love you too.”

James got to his knees immediately, crouching up to face John as they knelt in the doorway. “I’ve been a fool.”

“So have I.”

James cupped John’s face and pulled him into a kiss.

“Get inside,” John breathed against his lips, pulling at James’ broad shoulders.

James practically crawled into the room, not wanting to break their kiss. He felt John reach behind him and then heard the hinges as the door swung shut.

* * *

John’s hands immediately gripped James’ back, clinging to his shirt. His hands ran over the plains of muscles, feeling them ripple as their kiss deepened. John let his hands trail to the back of James’ neck, digging into the supple flesh and feeling the heat. His right hand quested higher, finding the soft ginger hair and reaching for the little band that tied back James’ hair. He pulled at the elastic, and when the locks were free John ran his fingernails through James' scalp, feeling a little nibble on his bottom lip as a reward for the arousing touch. John felt his cock pulse as James groaned into his mouth.

With the excitement building, John ran his hands from James’ sides until his palms were placed flat against his warm chest. He felt the prick of a nipple as he ran his hands over James’ shirt. Reaching for James’ waist, he began to pull up at the fabric. James accommodated him, parting from his lips so that John could pull the shirt over James’ head, his arms raising with the action. John tossed the fabric to the side before quickly pulling off his own tank-top. 

John was awestruck by the freckles. He had yet to experience them this close. He wanted to kiss each one, to run his face along the downy chest hair surrounding the peaked little buds. James was beautiful. 

John reached his hand out to gently touch James’ elbow. “Are you sure you want to do this?”

James mirrored the touch, running his hand over John’s small wrists, marvelling at the glow from his tanned skin. He was so smooth, even his chest. “I want you very badly John.” 

John smiled, his own hands now moving to trace over James' chest. Soon both of them were lightly touching and exploring each other’s arms, chests, and collarbones as they knelt before one another. But the gentle moment did not last long when James surged forward and encircled one of John’s nipples with his tongue. John grunted, his nails digging into the hollow just above Jame’s hip bone. James' kisses continued to trail all over while John’s hands struggled to work at James’ belt. He managed to pull the leather through the loops, tugging harshly at James midsection, lust overcoming his need for tender touches. 

“On the bed.” John begged just as James began to suck onto his ear lobe, his hand resting on his denim covered thigh, gripping and wanting. John’s chest tingled as he stood, noticing the burn marks on his skin from James’ beard. He made quick work of his own pants, stripping down until he was bare. He was pleased when James followed suit. 

Naked, they stood together, their arms encircling each other in an embrace, their cocks pressed tightly against their bellies, their chests beating within the same rhythm. 

He felt James slip his tongue deep into his mouth. 

He felt the shaky breath James let out against his cheek as the heads of their cocks brushed. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” James breathed as he moved his hips, creating the perfect space for his hand. 

“Oh fuck, that’s good.” John felt his legs tingle as James' large hand rubbed along the shaft of their cocks, the heat, hardness, and occasional slick of cum sending pulsing hums of arousal through his entire body. 

“Your skin is so hot, even on the outside,” James marvelled, tugging harder, almost painfully so.

John gasped when he felt a second hand squeeze at the flesh of his ass, gripping at it and moulding it within James’ strong palm. He felt a dizzying rush when James spread his cheeks, the air in the room feeling cool compared to their lust. He had to kiss James as he felt a single finger trail down the cleft of his ass; but the devil that James was, he kept pulling his lips away, forcing John to lean in, to seek out the kiss as he squeezed their cocks together. His cock started to leak when James’ finger brushed against his balls, his body trembling as James began fingering the rim of his hole. John scraped his teeth against James’ cheek to express his desperation for a kiss. 

“I cannot wait to see what you feel like on the inside.” 

John’s forehead fell onto James’ shoulder as he felt the tip of the finger breech him. He felt like he might be on the verge of tears from the effort it took to remain standing while James played his body with an intuitive ease. 

James was nearly buried to the second knuckle when John started begging for the bed. 

When they made it to the bed, John pushed James against the mattress before straddling him. He carefully pushed James cock flat against his stomach before he rose on his knees and aligned his ass over James’ length. James looked lost as John began to ungulate his body, feeling the hard press of the thick cock beneath his ass. James' hands hung awkwardly in the air, as if he didn’t know what to do with them - as if John rutting over his cock had drained him of critical thought.

“Touch me,” John said, his palms pressing firmly into Jame’s chest as he used it to leverage his thrusts.

James’ hand encircled John’s cock and he nearly regretted his request for fear of coming too soon. Feeling James’ cock, so close to his ass, the tip weeping and leaking onto James’ belly as John thrust against the shaft, was almost too much.

“I want you inside me. Please James. I want to feel you.”

James rolled them over with haste, John’s back bumping into the wall due to the limited space of the small mattress. 

“Shit, I’m sorry.”

John laughed, “It’s okay!” He shifted, both of them fumbling as John got comfortable on his back and James positioned himself between John’s thighs. 

“I want to make sure you’re ready.” James kissed the inside of John’s knee, the tender licks and nips trailing down his thigh.

“Believe me I’m ready.”

“I want to make sure you’re prepared.”

John sent James a look of confusion that signified he didn't usually fuss over this aspect too much.

“Trust me,” James pleaded, “I enjoy this part.”

John let out a heavy breath as James' next kiss went to his balls. James sucked the gentle sac into his mouth, his teeth grazing erotically over the flesh as his hands tickled goosebumps across John’s thighs. When James’ next kiss landed over John’s hole he could feel the muscles pucker under his lips, repeating it and causing John to toss his head back onto the pillow, his back arching with anticipation and his eyes closing with pleasure. James flicked his tongue over the ring, his fingers joining, pulling John’s cheeks apart to encourage the opening of his hole. His tongue slid inside easily, working John open with licks and kisses until the man was wreathing into the mattress. John let out a drawn out sigh of gratification when James slipped a full finger inside of him, stretching him, maddeningly slowly. 

“Another, God please.”

James snickered with satisfaction as he leaned up to take the head of John’s cock into his mouth. John absolutely lost it, cussing profoundly as James slipped in a second finger and started thrusting with purpose.

“James, will you please put your cock in me already!”

James swallowed around John’s cock, causing the man to whimper once more, fighting off orgasm. James' fingers withdrew slightly as he moved up John’s body, his senses overpowered as their tongues met and mingled. Between kisses James asked: “Do you … of course you wouldn’t…”

John pulled away from his lips, confusion on his brow. 

“You wouldn’t happen to have any lubricant?”

John smiled. “In the top drawer,” he pointed to the nightstand by the right side of the bed. “Never know when you might need it.”

James raised his brow at him before opening the drawer and pulling out the little bottle of oil. He applied a generous amount to his fingers and coated John’s hole before thrusting two fingers inside of him easily. When James pulled out he slathered his own cock in the mixture, making sure this would be as pleasurable as possible. He settled himself back between John’s thighs, his cock in hand as he began to line them up.

“I’ve never done it this way,” John breathed, tightening his grip on James shoulders

“This way?”

John’s cheeks grew a shade darker. “Face to face.”

James smiled, bringing his left hand up to John’s cheek. “I want to see you John. I don’t just want it to feel good, I want to see that it’s good.”

John sat up slightly, giving James a consuming kiss. “I want to see you too.”

“Good,” James said into the kiss, leaning into John and causing him to easily fall back onto the mattress, “then look at me.” 

John’s pupils dilated as he felt James’ cock slip inside of him. “Shit, give me a second. It’s been—”

“Me too,” James cut him off with a kiss. He stared back at John’s eyes, his breath stuck in his chest as he tried to control himself, as he tried to slip in slowly, working small thrusts until he was fully seated inside. “Jesus you’re so tight. You’re absolutely perfect John.” He kissed him again, his hand stroking John’s hair. “You are everything I didn't know I needed.”

Then John wrapped his legs around James back and he was lost. He plunged into him hard and deep, inspired by the bites to his neck John was leaving. 

“Yes, that’s good,” John muttered as he kissed freckles. He closed his eyes, feeling the plunge of James’ cock, feeling it in the weight of his own cock as their thrusts smacked his flesh against his stomach. “Faster now, please!”

“Open your eyes.” James commanded, his voice weak, his body affected by the constricting pull of John’s ass, of the way his fingers played with his nipples unknowingly, of the heat and taste of his tongue. “Open your eyes,” James asked again as he kissed John, taking in each moan as if it were his own. 

“I can't, I'm so close James.”

James' hips worked harder, more erratically. He barely withdrew before pushing back in, feeling the roll of John’s hips as they chased after something special. “Open your eyes,” he whispered roughly, “I want to see it.”

As soon as John opened his eyes he felt James’ hand grip the base of his shaft, a finger thumbing at his slit. His mouth opened on a gasp, before his jaw quickly tightened shut, his eyes seeing a smile of green before he needed to close them with the force of his pleasure. He felt his come splatter his stomach, he felt the thud of James’ head against his shoulder as the heat from his release was pumped inside of him. He brought a hand up to James’ hair, their chests rising and falling in competing bursts until they began to settle. 

“I love you.” John pressed a kiss to the side of James' face. After several moments of silence and afterglow John spoke: “I’ve never been in love before and I’m terrified.”

James pushed up onto his arms, giving John the ability to breathe without the weight of him on his chest. He brought his clean hand up to John’s face, his thumb fondly brushing over the single little freckle there. “I don’t want you to be afraid.” He kissed him. “I want you to feel loved, and welcomed, and wanted,” his voice began to shake. He pulled away, slipping from within John and rolling over to John’s side. Staring up at the ceiling, his cheeks wet, he sighed. “I want you to stay.” He rolled over John’s body, and got out of the bed. “I’ll go get something to clean us up.”

* * *

They were both early risers: farm life would do that to a person.

John woke up first, reluctant to open his eyes and eager to enjoy the last moments of rest. He was not confused by the pleasant tenderness in his ass, but he was slightly unsure of the crushing weight on his chest. He smiled naively into the darkness, wondering if that was the ache of fulfilled love. But when he opened his eyes, he laughed, finding James sprawled out over his chest. He ran a hand through the fine ginger hair, taking this moment for himself. He leaned down to kiss the tousled crown of James' head. “Come on you,” he began to sit up, pleased by the grumpy groan of his lover. “You have lots to go and tell Miranda. I’m sure she’s worried sick and I’ve got to convince Urca to take a saddle.” 

James grunted. “Good morning to you too.” He looked up at John expectantly and waited for the man to give him a kiss. As soon as their lips met James rolled on top of John. Both men groaned when their tongues and cocks lined up. “Are you sore?” James breathed against the supple lips.

“Pleasantly so.” They both chuckled easily with memories of their love making. “Now come on,” John said regretfully, “we have work to do.”

“About Miranda?” James asked, leaning back into the bed as he watched John get out, bare arsed and half hard. “What exactly should I be telling her?”

John scrunched his face as he put on his briefs.

“I mean, will you be staying?”

Part of John faltered. “Did you really think, after last night, that I wouldn’t?”

James’ cheek twitched. He grunted.

John interpreted it as a ‘yes’. John, in only his briefs, climbed back onto the bed. He put his hands on the side of James' head, his own hair falling over them to frame their faces. “I love you. I’m never going anywhere else ever again.”

James surged forward and kissed him, grabbing firmly onto his ass.

John pulled away with a chuckle, knowing he was such a tease. “Now go and tell Miranda I’m staying.”

“So you’ll also be coming to dinner tonight?”

“Always.”

* * *

As soon as they began working with Urca John had expressed his thanks to Billy regarding last night. He felt the man was entitled to an explanation of sorts, but as soon as he began Billy had cut him off: “It’s not necessary Silver. We look out for our brothers here.”

John was radiant after that.

They had spent the day tacking Urca up. Ironically, the horse seemed to like the weight of the saddle. Even the loose saddle straps and stirrups weren't phasing him as they guided him through the property. He wished James was here to see the horse’s progress, but he had spent the entire day with Miranda.

* * *

When he made his way up to the farmhouse that night Miranda had come running out of the house and barrelled right into his chest for a tight hug. He had picked her up at the waist and spun her around with a smile on his face.

“Don’t you dare think about leaving again!” she threatened when they parted.

Coming from Miranda, John knew it to be a very real threat. “I promise,” he responded with a little kiss to her cheek. 

“Good. Now come on, dinner is up and we have something we need to discuss.”

After they finished their Salisbury stakes, Miranda set down her napkin and plainly said: “We would like you to move into the farmhouse.”

John didn’t hide his genuine shock. “What will everyone think—"

James cut him off. “We don’t care.” 

“Billy and Gates, I don’t want them thinking I have some sort of special treatment.” John noticed the look exchanged between Miranda and James. His chin angled upwards, he had a feeling he wasn’t going to like what they were about to say. 

“What if we were to make you a partner in the business?”

John let out a little satirical laugh, his shoulders bouncing with amusement. His smile quickly turned to a frown when he noticed no alteration to his friends facial expressions. “Oh God you're serious?”

“James was Thomas’ partner in business,” she said, the subtext self-evident in her tone. “He was accepted into our home, no one questioned it.”

“That was different. You all arrived together, to accept another man will … will …” but he couldn’t think of anything more concrete to add, other than gossip - which he knew James was not concerned about. Then the thought occurred to him: “What about Sheriff Rogers? When he hears of a new partner he will come back, I have no papers!”

“Miranda has a contact,” James looked towards her, “a file clerk in one of the government offices for social services in Santa Fe. As long as you have your parents birth names and your legal name, the contact said because you were orphaned they could issue new paper work under the extenuating circumstances.”

John did not know how he felt about this, paperwork aside. He never cared about who he belonged to on paper. But if he made this next step, it would solidify everything: his love, his home, his future. “Okay,” he finally said.

“Okay?”

“Okay,” he repeated with a huff of laughter, the look of glee on Miranda’s face was priceless.

Miranda pulled him into a hug. “Really?”

“Yes really!”

“Stop giving him a chance to change his mind.” James teased as he joined their hug, giving kisses to the tops of both their heads. 

* * *

They had agreed that John wouldn’t move into the farmhouse until after Miranda had acquired the paperwork.

It had only taken a week.

When Miranda handed him the envelope containing the birth certificate and social insurance card, he didn’t even look at them. Instead, he handed them back to her, told her that he trusted her, and that he had some packing to do.

Miranda herself did not look, it did not matter. Instead, she locked them in her desk drawer where she kept all important documents.

John could truly come home now. 

* * *

He had chosen the guest bedroom closest to the master. They had put on clean sheets for him. There were also new hangers in the closet and a fresh package of lavender in one of the dresser drawers. He tossed his canvas bag on the bed and began making himself at home. 

* * *

In the week that John had been waiting for his paperwork, they had fully saddle trained Urca. The horse wore full tack while performing all commands in the lunging pen. They had even begun basic weight training with the sandbags when Miranda had come to the pen that afternoon with a smile on her face and an envelope in her hand. 

* * *

“To John!” Miranda held up her glass of wine at dinner in celebration.

“Welcome home,” James added, and instead of taking a sip of his drink he kissed John.

Miranda smiled over her drink, enjoying the good meal, good company, and many more happy memories to come.

That night she watched them do the dishes together, she watched their lingering touches as she played piano, she watched the way John began to fall asleep in James’ arms. 

She kissed both of them goodnight at her bedroom door before sending James a wink and encouraging him to spend the night with John, to make sure he settled in well. When he protested, like the good man Thomas had taught him to be, she assured him that she would come and get him if she needed him. 

* * *

They collapsed onto the bed - John’s bed - in a heap of tangled limbs and lazy tongues. They pulled at each other’s hair, pulled at each other’s clothes, but in the end, the only thing that made it off was Jame’s shirt. 

John kissed all the freckles he could find, biting at the ones he found endearingly sexy, all while rutting his cock against the front of James’ denims. 

Their hot mingled breaths, the tightness of their jeans, the rough scratch of fabric over sensitive flesh were maddening contradictions. James could almost feel every inch of his body alive with sensation. He could feel the tickle of John’s hair as it shrouded their faces, he felt the press of John’s thumb just above his hip, he felt his nipples ache with a want that burned in his balls. 

His eyes rolled into the back of his head as John whispered dirty little words into his ear about how desperate he was, about how hard he made him, about how much he wanted to fuck him. 

James hadn’t come in his pants since he was a teenager.

* * *

The next morning it was John who brought her a cup of tea in bed. 

“You didn’t have to do this,” Miranda said as she rearranged her pillow so that she could sit up against the headboard. She took the cup from John and invited him to sit on the bed. He was already dressed for the day. She turned to look at the clock on her nightstand: just after seven. She hummed as she took her first sip, feeling the slight burn on her lips from the warmth followed by the soothing effects of the flavour. “It’s perfect,” she said, “James makes it—”

“Too sweet,” they said in unison.

“So, how was your night?”

John tried to suppress his smile; it was an old habit. “I like it here. With you, with James. I feel as if I finally know what it feels like to have a place you would name above all others as your favourite.”

“I’m very glad John.”

John plucked out a stray feather from the duvet as he debated his next words. He felt like he was being selfish for wanting James and so he considered Miranda’s feelings regularly. “About the sleeping arrangements. If you need him Miranda, he was yours before he was mi—”

“Nonsense.” Miranda cut him off and reached out to place her hand on his thigh. “He is ours John. Let us agree that if James chooses to sleep the night in the other’s bed, that either of us are free to come in and join if we feel the need for companionship in the night?”

“That sounds fair, and cozy.” He wiggled his eyebrows at her suggestively, but it only made her giggle. 

“There can be no jealousy between us. It’s not fair of me to claim James just because I can’t sleep without thinking about the feeling of my husband’s arms around me, or the sound of his breathing.”

John reached out and placed his hand over her hers. “It is entirely fair Miranda. I respect your need for James and I admire your loving relationship.”

“Thank you John.” Miranda took back her hand so that she could have another sip of tea. John had made it just right.

* * *

First John laid out the padding on Urca’s back. Next he lifted the heavy saddle, altering it until it was at the middle of the padding. He tightened all the necessary straps to make sure everything was fastened correctly.

“There you go,” he patted the horse who pulled against the lead slightly. “I’ll have none of that today!” John scolded. “Especially not while we’re using my weight to help train you.”

Urca let out a whiny as if mocking John. 

“Am I a joke to you?”

The horse tossed his head back again. John laughed to himself as he led Urca towards the lunging pen.

“Alright boys, let’s get this done!” Gates said with a clap of his hands.

John noticed the way Urca flinched at the sound as he handed over the reins to Billy. Billy led Urca around with the saddle bag before it was John’s turn to put his weight in the stirrups. Urca was unbothered by the additional weight. By the end of their training schedule that day, the stallion had taken nearly half of John’s weight.

* * *

“No, no, no! Your water must be boiled before you put your pasta in!” James nagged as he rescued the uncooked noodles from John’s hand. He walked over to face Miranda. “Did you salt the water first?”

“Of course I salted the water first!” Miranda replied: affronted. “I do know how to cook James! Or have you forgotten that it is usually I who feeds you?”

John sent James a look of warning from behind Miranda’s back. When Miranda noticed James’ line of sight had shifted she followed it, looking over her own shoulder and catching John in the act. “You! Focus on your tomato sauce!”

John snapped back to the pot of tomatoes. While Miranda wasn’t looking he picked up a jar of spices, he sniffed it, inhaled a little, and then shrugged his shoulders before dumping a healthy portion into the tomato sauce. He added a heap of pepper and salt too, just for good measure.

“Honestly, it’s a wonder I get anything done with you two around!” Miranda swatted James with a dish towel. “You’re too mean of a teacher James. John needs my guidance at this stage. You can have him when we next decide to barbecue.”

John’s head popped up in interest at the promise of cooking over an open flame. 

“Fine, but don’t say I didn’t warn you,” James commented, nodding towards John, who in their distraction had added the pasta to the tepid water.

“Oh John!” Miranda said with fond exasperation as she turned around to help him and James fled the kitchen. 

* * *

The spaghetti had been terrible. The noodles were mushy and tasted of starch - and all involved in the meal wondered how the sauce had gotten so spiced.

John really was a horrible cook.

* * *

James’ hunger had extended into their bedroom that night. He clutched at John’s clothes the moment he had the door closed. “I want these off,” he pulled at the button of John’s jeans.

John was quick to respond, his fingers going to his belt buckle while he heard Flint undo his zipper. Once the button was finally freed - John couldn’t say by who - he felt James tug his pants and briefs down in one go. 

“Oh fuck,” John exclaimed as James dropped to his knees.

James loved to suck cock. He loved the control it gave him. He loved the ache it created in his jaw. He loved the feeling of being full, of taking another man down his throat. He wrapped a firm hand around John’s shaft, pumping him raw before swallowing him whole. James revealed in the yelp John gave when the head of his cock bumped against the back of his throat. He took no time to tease him - no time to play with his head, or give him tender licks. Instead, he devoured him. His throat constricted around John’s girth, saliva running down his chin as he breathed heavily through his nose. One of his hands gripped John’s ass for support, the other clutched at his thigh. He groaned around John’s cock when John gripped his hair, his hips unintentionally thrusting into James' mouth. He closed his eyes with pleasure, feeling the heavy weight slide against his tongue. 

John didn’t even give him any warning when he was about to come; he was - ironically - driven speechless, his neck exposed as his head was tossed back against the doorframe. He let out a breathy grunt, his knees bending at the joint from relaxation.

James swallowed around the release, his throat rippling as he struggled to breathe. He had to pull back slightly, grabbing the base of John’s cock. With his lungs burning, James let John’s cock slip from his mouth, the last trail of come dripping onto the floor as he sat on the backs of his heels to catch his breath. He felt the hand in his hair stroke through his scalp lightly. 

“Jesus Christ, that was definitely the nicest blow job I’ve ever had.”

James snorted, remembering John’s words about their first kiss. 

“Now, on the bed. I want to finger you,” John said breathlessly as he helped James up from his knees.

James took off his clothes and laid out on the bed. John settled between James’ thighs with a wicked grin. He started by placing kisses over James’ cock, the owner of which was clearly getting impatient with the light touches. Sensing this, John brought two fingers up to James’ mouth. Knowingly James opened, sucking the digits into the heat of his mouth. 

“You’re so sexy James.” John slowly drew his fingers from James’ lips, swallowing hard at the way he sucked them firmly, feeling the memory of it in his spent cock. John brought the fingers down to James’ ass, and without much preamble he slipped one finger inside. 

“Fuck, that’s it.” James was undulating his hips while John smirked secretly - he wasn’t even moving his finger, James was so eager that his body was doing all the work himself. As his hole began to loosen John slipped in a second thick finger, and this time he took over, teasing inside James with the press of his fingers. James’ cock was leaking from the slit, and his skin was flushed. “Another! John, please, another.”

John couldn’t deny him anything. With his free hand John squirted some lubricant against James whole, working it in, his fingers still buried deep inside him. He could feel his ass rippling around his fingers, feeling them sink deeper. Easily, he slid in the third finger and began thrusting in earnest.

“That’s it!” James cried a litany of encouragement when John’s mouth joined in. First, he tongued James’ slight, tasting the salty tang of his pre-come and sucking hardly on the head of his cock. James was squirming against the touch, as John trailed sloppy wet kisses and licks all over his cock, his fingers never missing their rhythm. When John’s lips made it to James’ balls he clenched his teeth, feeling the rush of his orgasm, panting heavily with the effort it took to fight it off, to wait a little longer, to feel this exquisite pleasure a moment longer. But when John took the sac into his mouth and began sucking, pulling on the skin James came with a broken shout, his cock pulsing, come splattering up to his chest. 

John withdrew his fingers with a smirk. He cleaned them off using the wash cloth and basin of water they kept on the end table, for nefarious reasons. James was still squirming, his chest rising and falling as his body appreciated the positive tingle crashing through him. 

John brought the cloth to James’ stomach, cleaning away the come before bringing it to his hole. When he finished he tossed the cloth on the floor and climbed onto the bed, pulling James’ into his arms. He winced when his thigh brushed against some slick on the blankets - everything would need washing tomorrow. 

James turned in John’s hold, facing him, chest to chest and giving him a sleepy smile before chastely kissing his lips.

“Well, I’m glad Miranda was right about that. You are a slut for my fingers.” John gave James’ a little wink who blushed in light anger before falling easily to sleep.

* * *

John was a fairly light sleeper; it was a habit he developed when living on the ranches with his father. They always had to be prepared at a moment's notice for any sign of trouble. The skill proved useful again when he was orphaned. Older farm hands, sometimes even strangers, would enter the boys barracks: sometimes the boys they took would never come back. Even as a young man without papers, he was anxious of midnight raids on farms. 

So John wasn’t surprised when the soft creaking off the bedroom door awoke him. In the blue moonlight he saw Miranda. Her face was hidden in a darker shadow, but the white of her nightgown nearly glowed.

“Miranda?” his voice was groggy with sleep.

“I didn’t mean to wake you. It’s just…” she couldn’t finish the sentence, but John understood her regardless.

“Well come on then.” He pulled aside the covers. He had forgotten that they were both naked. “Or I can wake him if you rather?”

“No!” she cut John off before his hand could make it to James’ shoulder - his back was to her, his ass bare and freckled. She took three steps into the room, closing the door behind her. 

John was still lying there, naked, and offering her a place in their bed. 

Miranda climbed over John, settling into the middle of the bed and resting her head on half of John’s pillow. She placed her hands on James’ back, feeling his lungs expand deep in sleep. She felt John pull the covers over them and fidget behind her. “Would you put your arms around me?” she whispered into the night air.

John replied by tucking his front into her back and placing a hand over her waist. 

Miranda smiled into James' back. “Thank you,” she said before swiftly entering the realm of dreams. 

* * *

Urca was being ornery. It took John nearly forty minutes to get the horse into his bridle. After that, John couldn’t convince the horse to wear his saddle - he kept biting against the bit and kicking his hind legs. There was no hope of making progress today. The horse was in such a mood that he was going to get himself or someone else injured. So John left him, smug as ever, to graze lazily in the pastures.

* * *

Miranda’s rocking chair was creaking against the floorboards as she watched the last of the sun fall beneath the purple sky.

The porch door snapped shut and John came into view carrying a tea tray. “Look what I made!” He said with excitement. He loved brewing tea for Miranda as a small kindness to her.

“Yes, the only thing I trust you to prepare.” James snorted.

“Just for that, you don’t get a cup!” John handed Miranda her cup and on principle forced James to make his own. He snickered cockily when James rolled his eyes. John let out a sigh as he sat down in his own rocking chair, or rather, James’ rocking chair; James preferred the cushioned wicker chair he had purchased some days back on an infernal trip into town. 

Evenings like this, relaxing on the porch, had become a regular occurrence for the three of them.

In recent days the workers on the farm had become aware of the farmhouse’s new inhabitant. John had heard little gossip about the subject, most were too afraid of Flint to even consider it. Others recognized John as a new partner to Mr. Flint, he had even been called Sir by one of the men the other day. 

Billy had told John he wasn’t surprised. After all, John was enterprising, skilled, and he was a difficult man not to like.

So their domestic bliss had been accepted, and all in question were very happy. 

* * *

_ John had never felt a pain as fierce before. His nerves were shocked, he felt his muscles splitting, and the heat was unimaginable. _

_ He had no idea dying was this wretched.  _

* * *

The next morning John and James had tacked Urca together.

“I think he’s missed you.” John said as the horse followed James into the lunging pen while affectionately bobbing his head towards the Rancher’s shoulder.

“If that’s the case I hope he is eager to show me what he’s learned.” Flint gave the horse a pat before hooking up the lunging lead. He ran the horse around the pen a few times, warming him up before getting him to stop so they could begin weight training.

“I’m not looking forward to the bruises,” John gripped the middle of his stomach and bent at the waist as if he was about to be sick.

“Oh hush. I’ll make it up to you tonight.”

“You mean…” John asked hopefully.

“Yes, I mean…”

The prospect of anal sex had John immediately putting his foot in the stirrup and thrusting his weight onto the horse. He tucked his stomach into the saddle and groaned, forcing Urca to dance on his toes. 

“That’s a good boy,” James tried to calm the horse, ignoring John’s sexy grin as the man pretended the words of praise were for him.

Urca ran the first few laps well, although he was slower to execute commands than John would have liked.

At the first echo of it John couldn’t quite identify the sound at first. But as it rippled across the mountains he was certain: gunfire. His mind immediately saw his father’s face and the splatter of blood - he revolted at the memory. He heard distant shouting - _ ‘John!’ _ \- but it was of no consequence as he grabbed the saddle for support.  _ ‘Get off John!’ _

The shots came again. 

This time the horse screamed, the lead rope snapped as Urca rose to his feet.

“Get out of the way.” John mumbled to himself, confused by the look of panic on James’ face as he tried to avoid the bucking horse.

With the next kick, John’s hands slipped from the saddle. His heart leapt as he fell backwards. He closed his eyes, preparing for the hard thud as his back slapped against the ground - the ricochet of his fall caused his head to snap back and smash against the dirt. Suddenly, his ears were ringing before a piercing scream amplified every sound around him: he heard Urca whinnying, he heard James yelling his name, Billy was shouting something about his foot. John looked down, but his left foot wasn’t there; that was when he realized that his foot was caught in the stirrup.

Urca’s panic had only intensified as the men around him, the men he was supposed to trust, were yelling at him. Instinct taking over, Urca began to bolt, running in circles around the pen, forcing all the men to dive out of his way.

John felt his shirt ride up, he felt the sting of stones cutting into his back as the horse dragged him around the pen. Struggling to bend at the waist, John reached out for his foot. He kicked against the leather straps which had become tangled. In the struggle, his heel became wedged within the stirrup as well.

“You’re going to have to cut it!” Gates shouted, tossing a knife into the pen and hoping John could find it.

John missed it on the first pass, the dust kicked up into his eyes. But nevertheless, his eyes never left the glinting blade as they made their next lap. 

Relief washed through his trembling body when he managed to pick up the knife. He began hacking at the leather strap, regardless of where his fingers might be. When the strap snapped free John didn’t have time to feel the pain of his twisted ankle hitting the ground.

He needed to get out.

He saw James moving closer, wary of the horse.

He began to crawl to the side but his movement was stilled when his entire body jumped with fear: the gun had gone off again.

Urca wailed in terror.

John screamed in agony.

It was quick.

He passed out moments after it happened, after Urca’s hooves had come crashing down upon his leg.

When he came too his head was splitting, his vision was blurry. He saw Gates and Billy corner the horse. He felt a hand cradle the back of his neck. His body had descended into numbness; even to his own ears his screams were silent. He felt tears on his face - but they weren’t his own. And then, James kissed him.

He had no idea dying was this wretched. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! 
> 
> According to my research Tsay is a word for child, or boy, in one of the Tano dialects from the Pueblo First Nations.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the end! Happy reading everybody!

When he had woken up he knew it was gone. Even before James had told him, he knew. He could feel it.

Miranda was at his bedside holding his hand. She sat up to kiss his forehead when he woke, a few tears splattering onto the crown of his head. She mumbled something about getting the doctor.

“My leg?” John wasn’t sure if the words made it past his lips; his mouth was dry and loose from the anaesthesia. 

James was sitting in an uncomfortable high back chair by the window. He leaned forward in the chair, resting his elbows on his knees. He opened his mouth to speak. He thought better of it. He stood. He was silent. He moved towards the edge of the bed. He almost sat down, but he thought better of that too.

Putting him out of his misery John stated: “It’s gone isn't it.”

James nodded. “They had to amputate to save your life … you would have bled to death…” but James couldn't proceed with that bleak train of thought. 

John closed his eyes briefly. His mind had yet to comprehend the full, life changing, extent of his injury. When he opened his eyes again he noticed that James was trying to fight back tears. He held out his hand to him, wanting to ease his partner’s suffering. Their fingers touched tightly, tracing each other's hands and it swiftly brought a smile to James’ eyes. But when Miranda returned with Dr. Howell their hands jumped apart: judgment sharp like the prick of a thorn.

Dr. Howell cleared his throat. “You’re a very lucky man Mr. Silver.” He shot a glance at Miranda and James.

John didn’t listen as the surgeon recounted the events of the operation. His ears were still ringing with gunfire and screams when Dr. Howell pulled back the thin bed lined and revealed the stump. His stump.

John grabbed onto the bed railing, gripping the plastic in a wave of panic. That was when he felt them, two distinct and entirely familiar hands overlapping each of his own. His head fell back onto the pillow with relief.

“From what I hear Mr. Silver, you were very fortunate that the horse didn’t trample any other vital parts of your body. You’re very lucky to be alive.”

John was relieved when the doctor left and Miranda brought over a cup of water. He was parched. He coughed slightly as the water slipped down his throat. The water rejuvenated him and it was almost as if the cold drink had restored critical thought to his mind. “I’ll never ride again.” He whispered to himself and then he repeated it for the benefit of the room as panic overcame him. “I’ll never ride again. I’ll never be able to train! What will I do now?”

“Nonsense,” James said gently as he sat down on the bed, brushing against the thigh of John's intact leg. 

“You won’t need me anymore.”

“Nonsense,” James placed a hand on John's chest, feeling the erratic beating of his heart. He ran his other hand over John’s arm, trying to calm him. “You’ll always have a place here John. Always. We can teach you to ride with one leg, how to train. Or, when you’re ready, we can look into a prosthetic.” He tucked a sweaty strand of hair behind John’s ear. “It is going to be difficult John, adapting to this new style of life, but Miranda and I will be here every step of the way; and you’ve always been good at adapting to survive.” 

John closed his eyes, hoping the love he felt could make him believe the truth of James’ words; but his logical thinking skills were missing: just like his leg.

* * *

He had been an inpatient at the hospital for nearly a month.

Learning to walk with crutches was painful: his arms, his shoulders, and his back ached. But the pain John hadn't been prepared for was that of his leg. Even though it was missing, he sometimes felt the pain of Urca’s hove smashing into the bone. He could feel the stinging, the throbbing, the agony of nothing. 

Despite the pain, he had been a surprisingly ideal patient by hospital standards. He was eager to learn and determined to get back to walking - to get back to life.

* * *

The day he was fitted for his prosthetic was terrifying. It should have been liberating, his freedom returning, but for John it signified the reality of unknowns that were about to become his life.

* * *

He was relieved when he got his discharge papers. He was relieved to be going home.

* * *

Despite being back at Hamilton Ranch, he still had rehab three times a week: to make sure he was comfortable with the prosthetic and continuing his physical therapy. James would drive him to the hospital in the beat up truck; he would participate in the sessions, giving John an arm where it was needed, just like the physiotherapist had instructed. 

Sometimes they would go out for ice cream afterwards, or to a little cake shop in town so James could satisfy his sweet tooth.

* * *

John had learned that gunfire came from a neighbouring ranch that James wasn’t familiar with. Just young kids with their father’s guns, shooting at the lizards out by the mountains. 

* * *

James filled up the wash basin with water. He carefully set it on the kitchen floor next to the dinning chair he had brought into the room. With the ease of a familiar routine he brought over two clean cloths and the oils Dr. Howell had prescribed. “John,” he called into the parlour where he heard John and Miranda playing piano together. “John, I’m ready.” 

Moments later John entered the kitchen, favouring his good leg.

“Come on. Pants off,” James knelt down to the floor and slipped the cloth in the basin before wringing it out. 

“You just want to get me naked.”

James rolled his eyes as John sat down in the chair. John made a variation of that joke every time they cleaned his stump. James tapped his thigh. “Pant leg up.”

John rolled up the leg of his denim trousers to just past his knee, it was as far as the fabric could go. Next he began to unfasten his prosthetic. He let out a gravely sigh when he removed the limb and set it on the kitchen counter. 

James pulled off the sock and sent John a look of reproach. “You’ve been wearing it too much.” He lightly pushed at the inflamed tissue while John sucked in his discomfort, just to continually prove James wrong. James brought the cloth up to John’s knee, water dripping onto his jeans. John let out a hum of pleasure as James gently caressed his flesh, the tension in his body beginning to ease.

“I noticed you went out to groom Aurelius today?”

“I did. Is that alright?”

“Of course.” James hand stilled as he looked back up at John. “I’m glad to see you interacting with the horses again.”

“Please don’t push it James.”

“I’m not.” He abandoned the cloth in the basin. “I’m genuinely glad you’ve found at least one horse you can be comfortable around.”

John nodded, the impending fight simmering into nothing. He shifted in his chair as he watched James lubricate his hands with the oil. The massage often felt painful at first, but John usually let his mind construct a scene where James’ slicked hand wandered to other parts of his body. They hadn’t been having sex and John had been left increasingly horny and with not much to do all day but imagine. 

“Stop thinking about me fucking you.”

John realized he had closed his eyes. “What?”

James pointedly looked towards the bulge at John’s crotch.

John actually blushed. “I’m sorry. It’s just … you’re so arousing and it’s been a while.”

James dipped his hands into the basin and washed them off before carefully applying a layer of cream to John’s stump. When James was satisfied with the level of his care he looked back up to John. “We could, you know, if you wanted to.”

John’s eyes widened. He had expected James to withhold sexual activity on account of medical reasons; but that was when John realized that he had been the one withholding. James was just as tactile with him, just as interested in his body now as before the accident. It was John who had yet to accept himself.

“What if it’s … different.”

“Of course it will be different my love,” James ran his hands over John’s thighs, “as it should be. Each experience should be different. Just think how dreadfully bored you would be if each orgasm was the same?”

John smiled. He swallowed with lust as James’ hands stopped short of his cock.

“Only if you want to John.”

“Yes, I want to.”

James smiled as he stood. He brought his thumb to John’s lip before it playful brushed his cheek. “Let’s make love then.”

John took his hand.

* * *

His orgasm had been different: superbly so.

* * *

At first John didn’t want to be near the horses. He had started by grooming Aurelius, then taking him for walks along the property, then watching him in the pasture. He had taken to visiting the foals, feeding them, giving them treats, and letting them bump their snouts against him for attention. He had even started visiting Walrus. 

“Could I borrow Aurelius tomorrow?” John asked over dinner.

“Borrow him?”

“I thought I might take him out for a ride?”

Both James and Miranda set down their utensils with a clink at the casual way John had suggested a monumental moment in his recovery.

Miranda was first to speak: “I think that sounds like an excellent idea John.”

“Yes. Would you mind…” James paused, considering John’s independent nature. “Would you mind if I was there?”

“Actually, I was rather hoping to receive moral support from the both of you.”

Miranda and James exchanged a smile.

“We’ll be there.”

* * *

He had been a fool - an absolute fool to wait this long to experience the endorphins of being horseback. 

Mounting Aurelius with his right leg hadn’t been difficult, only in the sense that he used to use his left. It only took seconds to adjust to the feeling of his prosthetic in the stirrups, of giving a command to the horses side with a nudge of his knee and hoping it radiated down to his absent foot and having no way to feel if it did. Really it was no different to the feeling of nothingness when he watched his foot touch the ground as he walked. 

It was different. But he had adapted to it within the first five minutes. He even set off to the trails at a gallop, leaving behind the smug faces of James and Miranda. 

After that, he rode Aurelius through the trails daily. 

* * *

He couldn’t sleep. The pain in his phantom limb was lively tonight. Sitting up with a sigh he considered waking James, but decided against it. Instead, he would go for a walk. Sometimes putting the prosthetic on and going for a walk gave him the illusion of a leg and he could trick his mind into forgetting the pain was there.

Like most nights wandering, John found himself at the stables. He walked past Aurelius, disappointed to find the horse in slumber. That was when he noticed him, four stalls down: Urca.

In the months since John’s accident, no one had yet been able to ride Urca. Billy and Gates had still been working with him daily, lunge training and the like. Bully had even mounted him three times, but was unceremoniously tossed off with each attempt. Despite this, they had moved him into the stables in order to make room for the two other horses Billy and Gates had broken in the interim.

Without giving it logical thought, and with the determination of a broken man, John picked up Urca’s bridle from the wall and entered the stallion's stall. 

* * *

James awoke with a start. Both he and John usually ran hot, but he was inexplicably chilled. He reached behind him, mystified to find the bed empty. He got up, put on some trousers and went to the washroom: empty. Miranda’s room: empty. The kitchen: empty. Confusion was quickly mounting to panic when another thought occurred to him: the stables. 

James ran upstairs to find a shirt. Once down stairs he pulled on his boots and hopped off the porch in his haste.

But James didn’t even make it to the stabled when he found him. 

There, in the lunging pen, in the middle of the night - in the darkness and the stars - was John and he was leading Urca round the pen with a lunging whip.

Absolute horror clutched at James’ chest. He felt himself go dizzy with panic as he ran towards the circular enclosure. He slowed as he approached - painfully aware of what happened to this horse when spooked. He approached the gate, waiting for John to notice his presence: terrified of what might happen if he didn’t, if he was forced to call out his name.

He knew the moment John spotted him, he knew the feeling of John’s gaze within his bones.

Wordlessly, John clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and Urca began to slow, listening flawlessly. John hummed to the horse as he brought him over to the water trough and tied his lead to the fence post.

James opened the gate and rushed towards John, gripping the man at his shoulders. “You fucking idiot!” he hissed at a whisper. “What were you thinking? Training a horse on your own - that horse no less - in the middle of the fucking night!”

“I know, I know.” John hung his head. “I just couldn’t sleep … the pain in my leg. It felt like I needed to finish this. I need to ride Urca.”

“Jesus Christ John if that is what you want, I’ll help you.” He pulled John into a tight hug. “But we have to do this properly, safely.” James pulled back from the embrace, searching for John’s eyes in the darkness. “I cannot lose you. I thought I lost you already.” His voice began to crack before returning to his default emotion: rage. “That night I gave you a star. Do you see that one, next to your mothers.” James pointed up to the sky, finding the light within the dark, illuminating it. “I had it fucking picked out for you John. Don’t make me go through that again!”

John brought his hands up to James’ face, cupping his cheeks and untangling his partner's feelings of anger and love. “I love you too,” he said. He understood.

James sobbed. “I love you so much goddammit!” He pulled him against his chest in a deep kiss. “If this is what you need John we will do it, but we have to do this properly.”

* * *

The next day they went about training Urca, properly. Billy and John had tacked him up and James and Gates stood at the ready in the lunging pen should anything happen. Even Miranda had joined them, providing moral support as she watched John move to the centre of the pen.

Urca ran the course with familiar ease, as if the trust between him and John had been unaffected. The incident hadn’t been Urca’s fault, and John accepted this. It was one of the few things he had found easy to accept first. As he watched Urca follow commands, John felt a sense of home returning to him. Here, in the pen, even though his leg was taken from him, he began to feel as if he was in control once again.

“Do you think you’re up for it John?” Billy asked.

“I can act as weight if you aren’t ready,” James offered.

“No, I can do this.” John handed the lead over to Bill before bending down to roll up his pant leg, exposing part of the prosthetic. He walked over to Urca and the horse met him halfway. “I’d really appreciate it if you didn’t accidentally kill me this time.”

The horse made no promises.

Regardless, John put his right leg in the stirrup and hauled his stomach into the saddle. 

Everyone held their breath.

When he was comfortable, John sent Gates a thumbs up and he felt the moment Billy commanded Urca into a walk. 

He would have been lying if he said he wasn’t frightened. He gripped the saddle so tightly that his hands turned white. But the longer he stayed, half in the saddle, the more comfortable he became.  It was still his least favourite part about breaking a horse - regardless of his missing leg or not - but he felt powerful after they had completed the first session. And suffice it to say, his interest in breaking the unbreakable stallion had been renewed.

* * *

Sex with one leg was different.

Sometimes John forgot the limb was missing and he would attempt a position that his body was not capable of. At first, it had resulted in frustration, rage, and wilted erections. But now, it often resulted in laughter, or simply altering his position.

His favourite part about sex with one leg was that James often requested him on his back as he rode his cock; as far as John was concerned, this was a very positive difference indeed.

“You look so desperate like this, ramming yourself onto my cock and taking what you want.”

James reached out to grab the headboard for support. He knew he wasn’t the only one who was close. John's fingernails were digging so deeply into his thighs he wouldn’t be surprised if they were drawing blood. His own cock was wet and his balls were tingling. 

“You’re going to feel me inside of you for days.”

James let out a desperate moan that went right to John’s nipples. Unintentionally John thrust his hips upwards and hit something deep within James that left him breathless and gasping as he spent himself onto John’s stomach. 

John followed him, not long after, his own come dripping out of James ass when they parted.

Sex was different now, but no less … perfect. 

* * *

Cautiously, they had spent nearly a week with Urca’s weight training. They knew the horse was sensitive to sounds so they had increased auditory stimulus. They played the wireless from within the stable, they banged pots and pans. Gates even shot off one of the emergency rifles. Urca had jolted with each instant, but luckily they were always able to calm him quickly, with a gentle touch or little hum for comfort. The consensus was that a rider would be able to do this also, without the risk of being thrown.

So it had been decided.

John was going to ride Urca.

“Are you sure about this?’ James whispered. He stood behind John as Billy prepared the horse. One hand rested on John’s hip as he brushed aside John’s hair and pressed a kiss onto the back of his neck.

“I’m sure James.”

“Alright then, that’s all I needed to hear.” he kissed him once more before walking to the gate of the lunging pen. John entered the pen and approached Urca. Unexpectedly, the horse met his gaze and John let out a sigh of relief.

Billy held onto the bridle as John put his right leg in the stirrup, pulled himself up, swung his prosthesis over Urca’s back, and mounted the horse.

“Whoa,” John hushed, pulling on the reins as Urca began to teeter. “That’s enough.” Urca tossed his head back, but began to settle. John clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth and nudged Urca’s sides with the stirrups. The horse began to walk.

Billy stood in the centre of the pen with a safety lead, guiding the pair around.

The fact that Urca made a full rotation without throwing John was a good sign - Billy had never made it this far. When John increased the horse to a trot, everyone - except James - had let their nerves subside to hope.

It wasn’t until the twenty fourth rotation - James had been counting - when John had sent him a playful little wink that he knew everything was going to be okay.

In the fifteen times that John mounted Urca that day, the horse hadn’t thrown him even once.

* * *

“You did it.” James grabbed John’s waist as he entered the stables and pushed him back against the wall. Urca’s bridle fell to the floor with a clank of the bit.

“We did it,” John corrected, “as partners.”

James brought his hand to cup the back of John’s cheek before pushing his body into the wall with a devastating kiss, reviling in the stolen moment. He couldn’t wait to get to the privacy of their home and celebrate properly. 

“Well I guess this will have to be cleaned now.”

At the sound of Billy’s voice John turned his face to the side, James’ kisses falling to his neck instead. He tried pushing at James’ chest - as if they hadn't already been caught.

“Relax,” James breathed into John’s ear. “Billy and Gates know.”

“What?”

Billy just laughed, giving John a wink as he picked up Urca’s bridle from the floor and tossed it into one of the cleaning buckets.

“The day of the accident, when you were on the ground bleeding out, I kissed you. God I kissed you so many times Gates had to pry me from your lips before anyone more damaging saw us.”

“You’ve known all this time?” John shouted out to Billy who was packing away the saddle.

“We protect our own here John,” was Billy’s response.

So John leaned in for another kiss. 

* * *

“Turns out you’re more than a cocky little shit!” Miranda said with pride as she put the last container of glazed pork into the picnic basket John had been packing for her.

“Sometimes I know what I’m talking about.” He flashed her a shit eating grin.

“Will you take this out back?” she closed the lid on the basket. “James should be ready for us by now.”

John sent her a curious look of confusion. 

Miranda grinned. “He has a surprise prepared.”

In order to celebrate their success in training Urca, John had suggested they take a late picnic under the stars for supper. He had no idea that James would treat the idea so seriously. When he and Miranda had made it out back, basket in hand, he was greeted by a little white canopy, surrounded with white Christmas lights. Underneath the canopy was a pallet, a foot off the ground, covered in a thin mattress and pillows. John had no idea when James had found the time to construct this little escape for them. 

“I figured our futures are going to hold a lot more star gazing, so why not give us a more permanent place to do so?”

“It’s gorgeous.” John set the basket down on the bed.

“You did beautifully.” Miranda walked over and gave James a kiss on his cheek before she took her boots off and climbed onto the little lounge he had built. John followed suit, removing his leg and resting the tired limb over one of the pillows. 

“Now let’s dig in, shall we?” Miranda began to pull out their supper while James opened the wine and poured everyone a glass. 

“To us,” he raised the crystal.

“To steadfast partners,” Miranda added.

“To family,” John raised his glass and they all drank to that.

After they had finished their meal and were warm with wine, James had pulled back the canopy so they could view the stars. He had ended up squished between Miranda and John.

“Do you see that one, right there?” James pointed the star out to Miranda. She nodded as she snuggled into his side.

“That one is Thomas.” James admired the smile that overcame her, one of happy memories from long ago. He felt John squeeze his hand in support and he couldn’t be more content, to share his life, like this. The lines on his forehead creased as a thought occurred to him. “Miranda?”

“Yes James.” She yawned, already nearing sleep.

“Are you happy?”

She sighed with the burden of sadness before she rose to her elbows and rested one hand on James’ chest. “Happiness is an elusive thing. But yes, I feel it is within reach most days now.”

“Really?”

The easy smile of truth settled on her face. “There is so much more joy in our life now. I think we are getting there James, wouldn’t you agree?”

James leaned up to kiss her forehead. Miranda smiled before settling back into his arms. 

“You know,” John’s voice cracked into the silence, “my mother used to tell me that all the stars were connected. That they were shattered pieces of a whole. But although they are no longer together, it does not diminish their brightness. They will always be there to help those in the darkness.”

“That’s lovely John.”

James turned to admire John, feeling as if the broken pieces of his soul were mending with the brightness of John’s smile. 

* * *

Hamilton Ranch had been advertising for a new horse trainer for several months now. After successfully breaking Urca, Hal Gates had expressed his interest in retiring. James had readily agreed, even promising his old friend work in maintenance any time he wanted; after all, Gates and Billy still had to fix the tractor. As such, Billy had taken Gates old position as trainer and foreman, which left John virtually alone - except for James’ occasional help - to break the horses.

“May I help you?” A soft, English voice, preceded the sound of a wooden screen door creaking shut.

Silver turned his head towards the front porch of the farmhouse where a woman in an off white housecoat stood. She had long brown hair reaching the middle of her back, soft skin, and the attitude of someone in charge. 

“Good morning Miranda.” John smiled, taking interest in the way Miranda was seizing up the stranger John had brought to her front porch. 

The man in question was tall and slim. He was a little worse for wear: his clothes were covered in New Mexican dirt and his hat stained with sweat. When he looked up at her he smiled, his mouth parting as something passed between them before he licked his lips, cleared his throat, and turned to look at Mr. Silver instead. 

The screen door clattered again - they really needed to fix that. James stepped onto the porch. He exchanged a look with John as he tried to piece together the situation.

“Miranda, James, I believe I’ve found our new horse trainer!” John slapped his hand on the man’s back, intentionally forcing him to take a few steps closer to the porch. 

“Welcome sir.” Miranda extended her hand, her chest beating and her face flushing when their hands met.

John smiled. He gave Miranda a knowing look before winking at James.

They were going to be happy. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed!
> 
> Come talk to me on [twitter](https://twitter.com/JustADearie) or [tumblr](https://justadearie.tumblr.com/)


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